


if we lose the fight, your spirit will live through me

by trxtr



Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Building a family, Carlos Reyes Needs a Hug (9-1-1 Lonestar), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Gen, Hurt Carlos Reyes, Hurt TK Strand, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Original Character(s), Owen Strand is a Good Dad, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Wakes & Funerals, Whump, please heed the warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:16:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29717046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trxtr/pseuds/trxtr
Summary: Carlos knew the difference between“I will always come back to you”and“I will always fight to come back to you.”or:When tragedy strikes, Carlos is left with a ring around his finger and a family that he didn't know he had.(Carlos/Owen heavy POV)
Relationships: Carlos Reyes & Owen Strand, Carlos Reyes/TK Strand, TK Strand/Owen Strand
Comments: 28
Kudos: 102





	if we lose the fight, your spirit will live through me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [terramous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/terramous/gifts).



> Happy birthday Max!! I know you said not to be sentimental, but I just really want you to know that you're pretty rad and I love you a lot. So cry. >:)
> 
> This work has been in the works since before season two came out, so it's a bit less canon divergent if you haven't seen/disregard season two. Max and I were spitballing ideas and this one came to mind, and I couldn't get it out if my head. I started writing in mid-January, so Tommy isn't in this one, and (spoiler alert) Tim is still alive.
> 
> This work would not be possible without my wonderful friends [Lire](https://lire-casander.tumblr.com) and [Jen](https://laelipoo.tumblr.com). This fic is huge; bigger than I could have ever imagined and these two took on the challenge of beta-ing (and doc sitting while I wrote) this piece. I am incredibly thankful, for without y'all, this fic would not be coherent. 
> 
> This work also contains flashbacks, one of which from my fic 1940 Birchwood Avenue. I wrote this before that was published.
> 
> In this fic, y'all get to meet Max's OCs Nathan and Khai. I hope I did them well, but from what he's told me from the (limited) excerpts I've shown him, I think I did. We also get to see a little of my NYC baby boy Lyle! So, for all of you who liked him in Been A Long Time Coming, this one's for you, as well.
> 
> I would like to reiterate that Nathan and Khai are NOT MINE. Lyle is the only OC that is my intellectual property in this fic. However, I really hope you fall as in love with all three of these boys as much as I did.
> 
> Okay, that should be all. This is a very long note, but there was a lot to be said. Happy Birthday, Max! I hope it treats you well!
> 
> **MAJOR TW: Suicide, grief, panic attacks, mentions of alcoholism and explosions, funerals, just overall tragically sad, but there's hope, I promise.**

Long shifts filled with nothing but patrolling bored Carlos beyond comprehension. The officer had been driving around in his cruiser for hours, now, scanning the familiar Austin streets for any sign of unrest. So far there had been nothing, and Carlos was longing for home. 

He fiddled with the engagement ring on his finger, the ghost of a smile crossing his face. The thought of TK was the only thing that got him through doubles like this. The idea of him, arms draped around Carlos in a silent slumber, whispering in his dreams and mumbling in frustration when Carlos rolled out of bed earlier in the morning made Carlos miss him even more. 

TK had had serious reservations about Carlos going on duty, today. The man was halfway to hysteria, tugging at his sleeve, insisting that Carlos was working himself to death. Carlos would counter with the fact that they had a wedding to plan, and he didn’t want it to be small.

—

_ “You’re working so much, ‘Los. I barely see you,” TK whimpered, not moving from his place sprawled over the left side of the bed. In one hand, he held Carlos’s pointer and middle fingers. In the other, he was gripping the sheets beneath them. “Can’t you call in, today? Please.” _

_ Carlos sighed, pulling TK towards him, using the other’s unbreaking grip on his fingers. He knelt down onto his knees and sat on his legs beneath him. He gave a ghost of a grin, pulling TK’s hand to his lips for a tender kiss. “I know it sucks, but just give it until the end of the week, okay? I’m all yours.” _

_ “I don’t want to wait, Carlos. I want you home.” _

_ Carlos sighed, rubbing his fingertips over TK’s desperate knuckles. He looked at him with a gentle sigh. “Just two more days, T. That’s all I ask.” _

_ — _

He supposed they still had time, though. They had the rest of their lives.

“You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?” 

Carlos was pulled out of his exhausted daze at the sound of his partner’s voice. He sighed, staring at the ring, still, before begrudgingly dragging his gaze up to him. “It’s pretty impossible not to, Nate,” He sighed. “I mean, he’s everything to me and he was so upset when I picked up a double and I kinda really want to go home and see him.”

Nathan Lovell was one of the few people Carlos actually allowed into his life. He was kind, quick, strong, and a hell of a good partner. They had met about two years prior to TK’s arrival in Austin, and had established a pretty brotherly bond by the time TK managed to weasel his way into Carlos’s every waking thought, and Carlos was surprised that even after his focus outside of work swayed from Friday night beers with Michelle to Friday night movies with TK, Nathan didn’t seem to mind at all.

Carlos was almost too caught up in thinking about his fiancé that he didn’t hear Nathan scoff. “You know you didn’t need to fill in for Uriah today. He and I get along just fine.”

Carlos narrowed his eyes at the other, but still remained in a state of relaxed contentment. “You know, I may be engaged, but that only goes one way. You share me. I don’t share you.” He shouldered the other, earning a loud groan from Nathan.

“That’s not fair, Carlos. You’re so annoying.”

Carlos let a tiny smile grace his lips, eyes landing on the engagement ring on his finger. It felt a little warmer, now, basking in the sunlight through the windshield. It glimmered and gleamed against the sky. TK would never call him annoying, even fondly. TK would, instead, just laugh at the sentiment of the sentence and wrap his arms around his fiancé. He’d press his nose into his neck, and laugh a little harder when Carlos would pick him up.

That was how they worked.

“Yeah,” He whispered, biting his lip. “I suppose I am.”

Carlos still had that fond gleam in his eyes when Nathan spoke again, this time a bit more blunt. “You’re insufferable. You’re not going to find anything out of the ordinary while your head’s in the clouds.”

“What, I’m not allowed to miss my fiancé?”

Nathan scoffed, pulling at the handle of the cruiser. “I’m saying you  _ are _ allowed to miss him, but you need to let me drive while you do.” The younger officer returned Carlos’s shoulder bump, this time a bit harder.

“Okay, fine,” Carlos said. “You’ll drive. I call shotgun.” 

“Carlos, that’s not how this works. If you’re not driving, you  _ always _ get shotgun.”

Carlos grinned, stepping out of the vehicle. “Exactly. Give me shotgun.” He stepped back from the car, and made his way around to the other side with a practiced saunter; one he normally only did to make TK laugh.

Nathan, however, was only amused by the way Carlos stumbled over his feet when he entered the car, nearly tripping and hitting his head on the window. 

Carlos was about to open his mouth to speak, to defend himself against Nathan’s obnoxious laughter, but before he could, dispatch came to life on his radio. “363-H-20, please come in.”

Carlos looked to Nathan, then back to the window. He almost smiled, happy to be out of patrol and actually doing something other than sitting in his car and waiting for some drunk putz to stumble out of a bar at noon and pick a fight. Maybe this last call would go well, and then he would be able to go home and give TK all the love and affection the other so desperately desired.

However, when he radioed back, the response he got told him that this call was going to be a difficult one.

“This is Officers Reyes and Lovell.”

“Officer, we have a possible 10-56 below Slaughter Lane Railroad Overpass. Caller is a railroad maintenance worker; found the subject unconscious between the tracks.”

Carlos swallowed, looking over at Nathan with worry in his eyes. It sounded bad; so bad that Carlos almost wanted to turn it down; to say they were busy.

_ 10-56: Suicide. _

Carlos had been on some of these before, however, in most cases, they wound up being 10-56A’s; attempted suicides, and the victims had lived. They had lived and sought help and Carlos even tried to stay in touch with a few of them. 

But dispatch hadn’t tacked that little letter on, this time, meaning medical wouldn't be dispatched, but coroners instead.

Carlos was about to reply into his radio, but Nathan was already raising his hand to the device on his shoulder. He gave Carlos a reassuring smile, knowing today was going to be tough, but it would all be over, soon; that he would see TK soon. 

“10-4, dispatch. Reyes and Lovell en route.”

Carlos almost didn't notice when his friend shifted the gear out of drive. He was back staring at his ring, again, spotting his reflection in the cool metal. He looked ghostly; nervous, and, to be truthful, he  _ was,  _ but Carlos didn't want to look it. He was Officer Reyes; cool and collected and reserved and ready to do his job on any given day.

At least that was the face he put on.

After calls like these, though, Carlos would come home seeking solace in the feeling of TK; his touch, his gaze, his breath, all reminding him that he was alive, and he was okay. Carlos would sometimes forget how alive he was; insistent on TK’s relentless, cool breaths against his neck in the early hours of the morning to remind him. 

In reality, every call sent Carlos’s anxiety spinning out of control, but if he could put on a front, and help someone, Carlos would. He would force his feelings down to the bottom of his head, letting the police force training that he had undergone take stage. Carlos was a firm believer in selflessness; that every person was meant to feel, but not all the time. Destiny chose fates; it chose when to feel, for everyone, and Carlos couldn’t get in the way of that, even when someone’s life was on the line, someone that he cared about.

—

_ “TK? TK!” _

_ Carlos chose to look everywhere but the door frame. _

_ A stupid, broken, tattered doorframe that was now stained with TK’s blood. _

_ He only remembered grabbing the gun, shouting out an All Clear, and turning around. The rest was blocked out until he found himself on his knees next to Tim, holding TK’s head still while the other intubated him. _

**_Why am I here? This isn't my job!_ **

_ He didn't realize he was crying until TK was finally being transported, and as they moved him, Carlos caught a glimpse of one of his own tears slowly slipping down TK’s nose, landing on his cheek. Carlos was still cupping his face. He was still holding onto him, trying to talk to him, even as they began to push him out of the house. _

_ It was only when they broke the threshold that Carlos looked up, and when he did, by some miracle, his gaze caught Captain Strand’s. _

_ He froze. _

—

Carlos never wanted to feel again; especially not after that call. Every single one of TK’s teammates were there, and they were all genuinely horrified. Carlos felt so  _ selfish _ reacting the way he did when there were people who needed consoling, people who needed him to do his job. 

He couldn’t do that again, so as they approached the overpass, Carlos let Nate take a right, and drive down the end of it (off road, which Carlos was definitely not a huge fan of, but he kept his mouth shut), and put on a safe face. He glanced over at Nathan, who put the cruiser in park before looking up at Carlos. “Last calls are always the toughest.”

“Yeah, I know,” Carlos muttered, He did. He really did know. It seemed like every single time he thought he was home free, one more inevitable tragedy seemed to creep up an hour before he got off. It just sucked. It sucked when there was no one to help, only people to console, and most of the time that was what these calls were; evidence collection, and consolation.

So, with a heavy heart, and even heavier eyelids, Carlos let his eyes flick across his ring once more, before he tugged at the car door.

“Hey,” Nathan called. “You’ll see him soon, okay?”

“Yeah,” Carlos said again, though he didn’t truly believe it.

Carlos and Nathan began the rest of their descent to the railroad tracks, only stopping when they made eye contact with a panicked man, waving his arms around, crying frantically, different variations of  _ “He’s over here!”  _ and  _ “I think he’s dead!” _

Carlos had a pretty good idea that the latter was the case, since he still didn’t see any fire or EMS; not even on the bridge. He hated that it was, though. He always hated bodies. That was the one thing he really struggled with: death. It was dark and scary and the world’s longest commitment that he knew of. With every step he took, death took one and a half. Carlos had to hope that it was a long way behind him, not to catch up until he grew old and gray with the person he loved most in the world.

Still, though, every step he took towards the bloody mound by the tracks made Carlos hesitate and force himself to ask what he was really doing.

At some point, Nathan had taken the frantic man behind a stationary train car to check him out. Questioning wouldn’t happen quite yet, but it's best the man didn't have to look, and see the regretful choices of the person on the ground, so Nathan was heading back towards him, with that stupid, practiced saunter that Carlos would always make fun of him for. Carlos was thankful for him, though, because he needed his partner; especially on calls like this.

About twenty feet away, Carlos really started zeroing in on the body. It didn’t sit right with him (they never did, but this one happened to feel a little worse). The man was wearing black jeans with no shoes (but some flip-flops were discarded somewhere across the tracks). He was facing away, so Carlos couldn’t really get a good look at him. His hair was brown and short, and below the body was a pool of blood, contrasting menacingly with the gravel around the head.

And he was wearing a hoodie.

A hoodie too large for his stature, judging by the tight fitting jeans. The hoodie was black. Carlos would have believed it to be solid if he hadn’t caught the embroidered APD on the cuff.

He froze, his mind wandering, sifting through his brain to see if any of his coworkers fit the description. He searched and searched his head, but as he got closer and closer, only one face remained front and center in his mind.

“TK?” He whimpered, his voice shaking in the cool autumn air. 

There was no response but the sound of gravel crunching behind him.

“Alright; caller is in the car and has water and is open for ques—” He heard Nathan stop. “Carlos?” He whispered again, and suddenly there was a pressure on his shoulder; a hand. Carlos could feel it squeeze, but his eyes were locked on the figure, and the bright silver band on his left ring finger.

—

_ “You’re sure about this, Carlos?” Nathan muttered, pulling the velvet box closer to inspect it. “That’s a lot of commitment.” _

_ “Don’t you think it’s too late?” Carlos frowned, yanking the ring back and placing it in his blazer pocket. He sighed, looking over the station. “You know you don’t have to be here and try to make me second guess everything I do,” Carlos frowned. He made eye contact with Marjan, who was sitting downstairs, her legs thrown over Mateo’s lap as the boy leaned back against his chair. _

_ The rest of the 126 was staring up at him from the floor below. Owen had his back against the rig, a sly smirk on his face. Judd was holding his phone, pretending to do something on it, but Carlos could see the man sneakily taking photos of the crew. Grace was across from the two, sitting on the couch with Paul, chatting about god knows what, laughing hysterically. _

_ Carlos sighed, shoving Nathan’s shoulder towards the staircase. “TK should be coming in from the balcony any minute now. He’s gonna want to watch the fireworks and I will not have you third wheeling.” _

_ “Of course. Wouldn’t want anything ruining your big night, right? Not even your best friend?” He pouted mockingly, watching the corners of Carlos’s mouth twitch upward. Only then did he laugh. Nathan clapped his hand against Carlos’s shoulder with a smile. “I’m proud of you, man. I really hope he says yes.” _

_ “I do, too—” _

_ “Carlos! There you are. I thought we were going back outside. We’ll miss the fireworks!” TK scampered up to his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around his torso, quickly shooting a glance to Nathan.  _

_ Nathan shrugged with a grin. “We’ll be watching from the ground.” _

_ Carlos smiled, waving him down the stairs before turning to TK. He let his boyfriend interlock their fingers and sprint back towards the station balcony.  _

_ Carlos checked his watch. 11:58. _

_ “Hey, uh, TK, love, can I talk to you about something?” _

_ He saw TK pale, but the smile remained the same. Carlos smiled to match it, but the other still looked concerned. “Yeah, babe. What about?” _

_ Carlos felt his heart begin to pick up the pace. His fingers started to tingle, just a little. He tried to take a deep breath, calm himself down, but the feeling still remained: nerves. They were nasty little buggers, always in the way, always making him overthink. They forced his body to perk up; to listen and retreat and hold his breath and let it out. Carlos knew that he had nothing to worry about, but it couldn't stop him from thinking. What if TK didn’t love him as much as he said he did? What if this entire relationship was a setup for failure and embarrassment. What would he do then?  _

_ But he’s been thinking about this for months. He wasn’t going to let the stupid nerves ruin what he needed untouched. _

_ So, with a deep breath, he knelt down on one knee, biting his lip. _

_ He watched TK’s hands fly to his face, fresh tears pricking at the other’s eyes. The boy was happy. He was excited. He was looking at Carlos like he was the most important person on the planet, and Carlos couldn’t think of anything to say that would describe how he was feeling. _

_ “You know I had a whole speech planned, but you render me speechless just by existing,” Carlos laughed dryly. He kept his eyes on TK, grinning when the other started happily sobbing. “So, I mean, I want you to know how much you mean to me, but I can’t really think right now, and, well, fuck. Tyler Kennedy Strand, would you make me the happiest man in the world and maybe… be my fiancé? Husband, even?” _

_ Carlos didn't have a chance to breathe before TK was flying at him, kissing him eagerly. The kiss was slow, and passionate, and only broke after the first few fireworks had popped around them. _

_ “I’ll take that as a yes?” _

_ “Put the damn ring on my finger, Carlos.” _

_ — _

Carlos had bought the ring on that finger.

That ring matched the one on his own.

He felt the grip on his shoulder tug at him, but Carlos held his ground as Nathan pleaded. “Carlos, hey, let’s go back to the car—”

“No.” The word was hoarse and desperate; exhausted yet so frantic, that Carlos didn't know where it was coming from. He was so used to shutting everything down; holding back and crying aloud were two completely different entities. One was what Carlos wanted to do; what he always wanted to do in these situations, and one was what he was about to do. “No, no, no, no, _ no! TK!”  _

He was thrashing against Nathan’s grip, boots slipping through the gravel, each rock catching in the crevices. His soles never stuck to the ground. Every step dug up more rock, until he inevitably felt his foot brush up against the hard concrete beneath it. He tried to move forward, tried to gain traction with the one toe he had pressing against the earth’s floor, but Nathan had wrapped his strong arms around Carlos, and Carlos started to recognize that he couldn't fight his way out of this one

But Carlos wouldn't stop.

He couldn’t.

Not until he reached the body; the love of his life, motionless on the rocks. 

He kept punching and clawing and heaving, but it was blanketed by Nathan’s voice, growing increasingly frantic. “Carlos. Carlos, hey, Carlos. Carlos! Stop! Carlos, stop it, Carlos! Fucking  _ look at me!” _

Carlos only let himself freeze when the man had turned him around in his grip. They were eye to eye, now, both pairs glistening in tears, but Nathan tried a little harder to keep his composure. He looked at the man ahead of him, who kept trying to steal glances behind him. Nathan grabbed his jaw in one hand, and tilted it upwards to force Carlos to meet his eyes.

“He’s gone, Carlos.”

_ No. _

Carlos couldn’t hear anything but the pounding of his ears as he collapsed into his partner’s arms, allowing himself to tear his vocal chords to shreds.

He screamed.

He screamed louder than he ever thought possible, face towards the ground, ear against Nathan’s chest. He balled the other’s uniform into his fists, hands trembling with how hard he was squeezing on the fabric.

He screamed.

Feeling his vision darken from the pressure building in his head was a new sensation to Carlos.

He screamed.

His lungs couldn't carry this on much longer. Eventually he would run out of breath, but he refused to be quiet.

He screamed, because what the fuck else was he supposed to do?

TK was there. He was  _ right there _ , hardly recognizable, against the broken, brown-gray rocks below him. He was motionless, limbs sprawled out all around himself, discarded like garbage.

_ He threw himself away. _

Carlos found his screams morphing into even louder, more pained wails, heart pounding, eyes stuck flicking between the ground next to Nathan and the bloody ground below his love. How could he do this? He thought they were fine; he thought he was doing better. He said he was doing  _ better. _

—

_ “Hey, baby.” _

_ TK didn’t reply; he was curled up on the couch, staring at the wall, hands holding tightly onto his hoodie strings, tugged taut. He was breathing heavy, the wall seeming to be the only point of interest. His eyes didn’t even twitch in Carlos’s direction. _

_ “T?” _

_ “Hm?” _

_ Carlos cautiously stepped forward, keeping his hands steady at his sides. He could spot an anxiety attack from miles away, especially if it was his boyfriend’s. “Hey, how was your day off?” _

_ TK tore his gaze from the wall, eyes narrowing in confusion when he saw Carlos in the living room. “Don’t you have a shift?” _

_ “I did, earlier,” Carlos replied, taking the last few steps before lowering himself on the opposite end of the couch. “My shift ended an hour ago. Have you been sitting here all day?”  _

_ “I had therapy,” TK answered. _

_ “Did your dad take you?” _

_ “No, it was online.” _

_ Carlos sighed, letting himself scoot a little closer to the man. He looked so small; so frail. Carlos couldn’t help but wonder what had happened in the session, even if it was none of his business. TK never really got this bad; especially not after a decent therapy appointment; online or off. _

_ “Are you okay?” _

_ “I will be,” he answered once again. It was another short, quick shot, but TK meant it. Carlos could tell by the way the other scooted to meet him in the middle of the couch, leaning his head on his shoulder. Carlos felt his eyelashes flutter against the skin on his neck, and he sighed. “I just talked about you the whole time; she said I was dependent, and that sometimes you aren't here and I wish you would always be because I need someone other than my dad to help me but you have work and I have work so it’s okay but then I started thinking about you and you getting hurt and not being here and I just—” _

_ “TK, love, I am right here, okay?” Carlos reached up, hand hovering over his cheek. He let TK lean into the touch, before he started running soothing fingertips over his cheeks. “As long as I can help it, I’m not going anywhere, okay?” _

_ “But what if you can’t help it?” _

_ Carlos sighed. He pushed his palm forward to cup the back of his neck. “You’ll be the first to know, TK, and there will not be a day where I won’t fight tooth and nail to get back to you.” _

_ “You promise?” _

_ “I promise, amor. I will always come back to you.” _

—

Carlos was frozen, now. Nathan had dragged him back to the car. He was slumped against the tire, Nathan sitting in front of him, a hand on each shoulder. Carlos was still audibly crying; whining; wailing, doing everything he could to let the universe know how hurt he was.

TK never made the same promise Carlos did. His was similar, but Carlos knew the difference between “ _ I will always come back to you” and “I will always fight to come back to you.” _

TK’s mind was a battlefield, littered with mines and bullets and tattered memories, warped by the heat and the gears, forcing them to morph into angry ones. TK hardly had happy memories. Almost all of them were with Carlos. There were a few regarding his team that TK had managed to share with his fiancé. Most of his childhood memories had been tattered and burned by the harsh reality of the life of TK Strand. He’d always told Carlos how much he loved the time he got with his family as a kid, but as he grew older, a new understanding of his parent’s relationship, and a long, drawn psychoanalysis of himself, proved, to him, that at least half of those memories were rooted in heart-eating guilt. Carlos had tried to tell him that it wasn't true. He tried to explain that his parents made things work because they cared about him, but TK insisted that they didn't love each other, so they couldn't love him. 

If only he knew how wrong he was.

Carlos found himself gripping at the grass, his fingers yanking up the ground with such force that his hands burned while the grass dragged across his skin. He could feel the dirt nestle in the crevices of his palms; each wrinkle and bump was showered in a layer of dust. It caked onto where the tears had dripped, leaving his hands dusty and splotched.

He felt Nathan’s hand lift from his shoulder, and vaguely, he heard him press down on the button on the radio. His words were muffled against Carlos’s weeping. 

“Dispatch, can you send an ambulance for transport of a 10-55,” Nathan managed, and Carlos cried louder. 

This couldn't get any worse. TK was dead. He was really just… gone. The light of his life; his sunshine, his moon and his stars, was forty yards away from him, lying frozen, lifeless on the small, unassuming pebbles.

Distantly, he heard Nathan pipe up again. “And, dispatch, is there a possibility you could patch me in to Captain Owen Strand?”

“10-4.”

_ Oh, fuck, Owen. _

Carlos felt his head snap up, his trembling features contorting into an apologetic grimace. He felt fresh, hot tears reform in his eyes. He didn't speak. Instead he just shook his head quickly. He went to reach for his own radio, about to tell dispatch not to; that he’ll find Owen, himself, but Nathan placed a gentle hand on his wrist. “Carlos, you can’t keep this from him.”

Carlos tore his hand away from Nathan’s grip, letting it brush up against the car behind him. He glanced from Nathan’s radio to his own, eyebrows drawing together in a silent plea.

“This is Captain Strand. Who am I speaking with?”

_ No, please, don’t… don’t tell him. _

“Captain. Hello,” Nathan spoke into the radio. “Captain, this is Officers Lovell and Reyes.”

“Oh, hey, boys.”

Carlos could hear the chipper sound on the other side of the radio. He could practically see Owen smile. He was probably in his office, sipping on a nutmeg kiwi smoothie, Buttercup at his side. It had been a quiet day for everyone. Not just Nathan and Carlos. He was probably enjoying his borderline-day-off.

“Hello, sir.”

Carlos could hear the radio go silent for a moment, and he wondered if Owen heard Nathan. Did he hear the somber crack within the sentence? Did he listen to the faint whimpers in the background. Did Owen even hear Nathan?

“What’s wrong?”

He did.

Without thinking, Carlos reached for his own shoulder, pressed the button, and spoke. “Owen—”

“Carlos, don’t,” Nathan scolded, pulling his hand away.

Carlos knew it was a mistake. The way he had spoken the other man’s name, even through radio, was inexplicably pained. He wanted to pretend that Owen didn’t hear him. He wanted to pretend that this was a dream, that if he pinched himself, maybe he would wake up.

“Was that Carlos?” 

Owen’s voice was, as anticipated, a little more frantic, now, and he seemed to let his finger stay on the button, just a second longer, just enough to hear Judd’s mumbled:  _ “Cap?” _

_ The team is there. He’s with the team, oh god— _

Carlos let himself break again. He tore his eyes away from Nathan, back to the body across the tracks. It wasn't recognizable from his location, but the browns and the blacks and the reds all muddled together reminded him of who it was; of  _ what _ it was. 

He was crying again, his brain swimming around in an ever-refilling tank of tears and desperation. He wanted nothing more than to go back, just to that morning. Just to yesterday, and call in. He wanted to rewind the clock, hold his breath, and maybe wind up waking up next to his love again. But time travel was impossible, and all Carlos was left with was the man over the phone and an unfinished cup pong game under the contact:  _ fiancé. _

_ fiancé: Cup Pong: Your Move. _

It happened again, even when he thought he couldn't. Even when his voice gave out at first, Carlos screamed again.

He almost scrambled to his feet to sprint back to the body, but Nathan pushed him back down again, one hand still on the radio, unknowingly transmitting the entire thing over dispatch, to Owen.

“Carlos, hey, Carlos,” He whispered, a twinge frustrated. “Carlos, hey, be quiet, you’re hurting yourself.”

“He— He didn’t... I don’t—” Carlos reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone with frantic eyes. “We were playing—”

“Carlos,” Nathan tried, but Carlos panicked. He started to squirm and thrash again, heart pounding, ears burning. He was still screaming, yelling, crying, fingers desperately picking at the other man’s hold on his shoulders. Nathan let go.

Only when he did, did Carlos seem to quiet.

“He can’t be gone.”

Carlos saw Nathan break a little at that. He watched his hand slide from the radio. He watched him move from a crouch to a seated position. He saw him close his eyes, and he thought he saw one singular tear drip from his eyelids.

“Nate, what’s going on?”

Carlos almost forgot about Owen.

He looked up at Nate, who quickly wiped his face. Ambulances could be heard in the distance, and if he didnt want Owen to be told by a complete stranger, or to be egged on for another hour before he and Carlos could make it to the 126, he needed to rip off the bandaid. “Uhm,” He whispered, trying to ease the tension in his throat. “It’s TK, sir.” 

He paused, just long enough to hear Owen speak. “Nathan, what happened?” He said, almost deadly quiet.

“He, uh, he took his own life.”

There was silence on the other line. The radio didn't make another noise.

Carlos didn't want it to.

He could imagine the situation at the 126. The device most likely slipped from the Captain’s fingers onto the floor. He probably sat back, the same nervous pang blossoming in his chest, slowly blooming and weaving its way around his lungs, slowly stripping him of breath. The crew; maybe only Judd, most likely swooped in, quick to console, but none of them could really console themselves.

The 126 most likely would be shaken to the core with those five words.

In reality, Owen was sitting, staring at the rest of the 126, amidst their weekly team meeting (divvying out chores, figuring out shifts for the upcoming month). He’d texted TK all the details. They were just about to wrap it up.

At first he chuckled. At first Owen laughed, thinking that he was about to gain another son; one just as playful as his own. Maybe Nate had convinced Carlos to pull something with him; to joke about it; gauge his reaction.

But Nate had said it so solemnly, and he could hear Carlos screaming in the distance, and he could hear Nathan try to quell his partner, and he could hear Carlos call over the radio, too, breathless, hoarse.

Owen really hoped this was a joke.

And then he remembered Michelle’s team got called out to a suicide victim, and all Owen could think to do was ask: “What’s your location, Lovell and Reyes?”

“The railroad tracks; uhm,” Nathan tried, but the crack in his voice betrayed his stoic tone. “The ones under Slaughter, under that bridge.”

Owen closed his eyes.

_ “126, requesting transport; Slaughter Lane Railroad Overpass; subject deceased.” _

“Oh my God,” Owen whispered, breath catching in his throat.

TK was literally fine this morning. He swung by Carlos’s to check on him before shift. TK was smiling, excited to see his dad. He was happy.

_ He was happy. _

Owen looked from the radio; his trembling fingers, to the crew, who all wore matching expressions. Paul was staring at the captain, for the first time in genuine disbelief. Marjan was holding onto Mateo, who was flicking his eyes between her and Owen, breath visibly picking up. Judd just went rigid, face pale, hands in his pockets, staring at a point above Owen’s head.

Owen was the first to speak.

It wasn’t a word. It wasn’t even a syllable. Owen stared back at his team, eyes wide, and opened his mouth, only to let a strangled cry come out.

Ever since 9/11, Owen had been so focused on keeping up a front; never letting his guard down in front of the team. Even when he’d told the team about the cancer, it was hardly emotional. It was a general announcement, and he swore that he was going to do everything for the 126; that he promised.

But he also promised to keep his son safe.

He felt his breath catch; hide in his throat, as if he’d forgotten how to breathe as Paul rushed forward, enveloping his captain in a hug. Everyone soon followed suit, except for Judd, who was still frozen, staring at a spot on the wall above Owen.

—

_ “You know I love you,” Owen muttered, staring at the sky. TK was next to him, sitting on a bench amidst central park. “Don’t you?” _

_ “I know,” TK sighed. He laid his head on his father’s shoulder. “I just don’t understand why.” _

_ The nineteen year old was shivering, eyes staring up ahead at the city. A gray hoodie hugged his frame, a hospital band peaking out from the right sleeve. _

_ Owen sighed, letting himself pull TK closer to him. He gently took his hand in one of his hands, the other reaching up to skim through his son’s hair. “Because, T, you’re my kid.” _

_ “You can make more,” TK frowned, closing his eyes. _

_ “TK,” Owen warned, squeezing his hand. He’d heard several excuses from his son as to why he should stop loving him, whether or not they were true. They were true to TK, and Owen hated it. _

_ “I mean, you can. I don’t have to exist. It could have been someone else; someone stable, someone strong and smart. You could have that, and you got stuck with me.” He didn’t look away from the street through the trees. They weren’t too far into Central Park. TK didn't like darkness. _

_ “Do you know how strong you are?” Owen asked. “Seriously, TK, do you have any idea?” _

_ “I couldn’t deal with myself,” TK whimpered. “I’m not strong, Dad. This keeps fucking happening and I don’t know how to stop myself because it seems so easy. I keep wanting the easy way out and I keep winding up here.” _

_ “Because you’re trying to do it alone, TK.” Owen pulled his fingers from TK’s hair, reaching down to press his pointer finger to his chin, lifting his head up. “Maybe the easy way out would be staying, just a little longer, with everyone around you.” _

_ “You’re all I have left, Dad.” _

_ “Then I’ll have to do.” _

—

Carlos heard muffled cries through the radio on his shoulder, the sounds matching his own. His hands were in Nathan’s. He was trying to keep Carlos from scratching, or tugging at the grass, or at least lessen his shaking.

Michelle had come.

Michelle, Tim, and Nancy, in a cruel twist of fate, were the ones who had pulled up to transport the body.

Neither Nathan nor Michelle had left his side since they arrived at the hospital.

They were waiting for Owen. Michelle had radioed in the location of the hospital. Owen was on his way. Last he heard he got Billy to drive him, since none of his own were really up for that.

Carlos was sure he and Nathan would be berated for telling Owen before TK’s body had made it to the hospital. After all, the facility had people who were trained at delivering such bad news, but neither of them really cared at this point. None of the doctors had bothered them, either.

So they just sat there, waiting, agreeing to only let Carlos and Owen go in, and only if they were ready.

Carlos wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready.

Carlos wasn’t sure when Owen showed up. He barely knew how long he’d been sitting in the pointless waiting room chairs, knowing there was no news that was coming. He knew how this ended.

He just wanted to know where it began.

Carlos heard people speaking to him, but any touch was met with a swat away and a shuddering breath. Most of his friends wound up getting the memo; only speaking to him, but Carlos was still stuck. He didn’t hear them. He didn’t listen.

There was a pair of arms wrapping around him, and before he could push away, he heard the familiar warm tone of Owen Strand’s voice flood his ears. He let himself succumb to the embrace, too exhausted to fight. Not with Owen.

Carlos, instead, brought his hands up to clutch the fabric of Owen’s shirt, feeling the other man’s sobs falling into a rhythm adjacent to his own. They stayed there for a few minutes, the rest of the hospital seeming to silence itself. Carlos couldn’t tell if it was the quiet in the hospital, or the shield of his almost-father-in-law’s arms against his ears, but it seems to calm his mind enough that he can finally formulate a complete sentence.

“I’m so sorry, Owen,” Carlos whispered. The words still tore him apart, sending him into another fit of sobs. He felt Owen’s hand come up to cradle the back of his head, fingers slowly filing through each curl on Carlos’s head.

“Don’t do that,” Owen murmured, placing his chin on top of Carlos’s head. “It’s not your…” He took a breath, trying to keep himself at bay. His emotions were strong, but Carlos’s were stronger, and there was no way Owen would break in front of him. “You don’t get to do that. It wasn’t your fault.”

“He told me to stay home.”

“You had a shift.”

“I should have stayed. I should have— I… I should—”

Owen made a tiny strangled noise from the back of his throat, shaking his head. He leaned back, letting his hands lock on Carlos’s jaw, holding his head up, steady. “Carlos, look at me.”

Carlos shook his head, panicking and shaking against Owen’s grip, but at the feeling of Owen’s thumbs gently brushing against his cheeks, Carlos settled.

_ “None _ of this is your fault.”

Carlos closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. He let Owen pull him back to his chest, letting out a few strangled whimpers. “Okay,” he tried. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

Owen sighed, and Carlos started to hear voices again. They sounded like his friends. They sounded like Nathan and Michelle and Owen and everyone else, but Carlos couldn’t decipher what they were saying. They calmed him. In Owen’s arms, his friends around him, Carlos almost let himself be tricked into believing everything was okay. 

And then a new voice cut through, and Carlos felt his breath hitch.

“Mr. Strand, Mr. Reyes.”

He knew what this meant. He knew that he was going to ruin the solace of the waiting room chair. He knew he was going to have to break away from Owen’s hug. He knew he was going to have to walk down through the ICU, Owen at his side, and see him.

_ To say goodbye. _

Carlos still wasn’t ready.

It passed by in a blur. 

One moment he was clinging to Owen, sitting; sobbing in the uncomfortable chair, the next, he was outside a lonely, silent room, dreading taking that first step. 

He felt Owen stiffen next to him, and Carlos immediately knew that the door had opened. He heard the squeak of the hinges and instinctively, he stepped back, but Owen had a firm grip on his wrist.

For a moment, Carlos froze, almost ripping his hand away. He didn’t want to look up, to see Owen forcing him to stare at the love of his life, dead on the bed in front of him. For that moment, he thought Owen had been a part of it; a sinister mastermind, forcing Carlos into suffering, because he wouldn't  _ let go. _

But then Carlos actually glanced up at the older man, and he realized, then, that the man was holding his wrist so tightly because he was frozen; stuck, horrified eyes locked on his son.

Only then, did Carlos recognize that Owen couldn’t let go of him, because if he did, he’d lose all control.

“Oh my god,” Owen whispered, slowly shuffling in. He kept his grip on Carlos’s wrist, disregarding the other’s murmurs of protest at the movement.

Owen didn’t care at all.

He was on his son in an instant, finally letting Carlos’s wrist breathe when he threw himself over TK’s body. Carlos watched as Owen slowly fell apart in front of him, gripping tightly onto his son’s hand. He watched as Owen buried his face in the crook of his boy’s neck, gasping in the faint scent of gravel and antiseptic and blood and cologne.

The realization that Owen hadn’t fully understood what had happened until this very moment hit Carlos so hard that he found himself stumbling into the wall of the room. It was such a beautiful, intimate moment, between father and son. Owen’s sobs were the only sounds within the room, yet Carlos could only hear his heart in his ears.

_ I don’t belong here. _

Yet, he couldn’t leave.

Carlos’s feet were planted to the floor, his hands stuck in a perpetual shake. He stared at Owen, the black uniform sticking out like an angry drop of ink against the near all-white room. He was obscuring the view of his son, just enough so Carlos didn’t have to look over and see the face of the man he loved so much. Carlos was just… there, watching, listening to the man sob against his son’s chest.

—

_ “Mr. Strand, Mr. Strand, how are you both?” _

_ Owen was holding tightly onto TK’s hand with a death grip, and his son was matching. The green and yellow walls of the lab felt foreign to both of them, but Owen could tell that TK was a bit more sensitive to the environment. _

_ “A little jittery,” Owen answered, watching the doctor sit down in front of him, “but I’m okay. I wanted TK to be here,” He answered, shouldering his son lightly.  _

_ TK stayed practically frozen, staring up at the doctor with pleading eyes. _

_ “Well, I assume you both have been waiting long enough for me to show up. Sorry about that, by the way. It’s been incredibly busy.” She smiled at TK, then turned to Owen, handing him the yellow envelope she had been carrying on her clipboard. “I suppose you shouldn’t wait any longer.” _

_ “For what?” TK croaked, one hand holding desperately onto his father’s tricep. “For you?” _

_ “For that,” she said, gesturing to the envelope. “Congratulations, Owen,” she continued. “You’re in remission.” _

_ TK perked up at that, eyes widening in hope and excitement. He wasn't sure whether to hug the doctor or to hug his father or to hug himself. All three of which were pretty solid choices, but TK soon had his decision made. He hopped up, grabbed his father’s shoulders and pulled him in, both of them letting their happy tears flow.  _

_ TK felt his father’s excited tears soak into his chest, and he smiled. He smiled so wide. “You did it,” TK whispered, sniffing. “You made it, Dad! You did it!” TK took his father’s face in his hands, smiling wide when Owen did the same. He felt some of his father’s tears fall into his palm, and he smiled even wider. _

_ “We did it, T. You and me. We did it.” _

—

Saying goodbye was harder than either Owen or Carlos had expected. Carlos didn’t move from his place on the wall until Owen beckoned him to, and when he did, Carlos melted back into a mess of shaky apologies and shriveled hope and angry curses and tender butterfly kisses over his lover’s broken face.

Saying goodbye had hurt more than arriving on scene, seeing him. Carlos actually got to touch him; feel how cold he was without the warm ember resting left of center inside his chest. It had extinguished itself, never to be lit again, lost to the world. Carlos got to listen for it: rest his head on TK’s bruised chest, hoping;  _ praying _ for something to change, for him to hear that tiny, perpetual  _ thump, thump. _

No such miracle came, and soon, he was being dragged back to the Captain’s car (whom Michelle had brought from the station). He didn’t protest when Owen told him to get in. He didn’t fight when Owen told him to put on his seatbelt.

Carlos was too tired to fight.

So he settled on staring out the windshield, trying to find an extra star above the hospital.

“Do you think it would have been different if he knew who was going to find him?”

Carlos’s head snapped up at the words. He tried to shake out the images of this morning, but looking at Owen, the stony, solemn look on his face seemed to say everything; that there was no forgetting something like that, ever.

“I don’t think he was thinking,” Carlos whispered. “I think the... The only thing going through his head at that moment was finding a way out. He didn’t think about us, Owen.” Carlos shook his head, running his hands through his hair, trying hard not to begin to heave and sputter again. He’d just gotten it under control.

Owen sighed, finally placing the keys in the ignition. “Would you stay at mine, tonight, Carlos? You can have TK’s bed.”

Carlos simply nodded, letting himself bring his knees to his chest once more, arms wrapping around his shins. He placed his head between his knees, eyes drifting shut, only a single tear falling to the fabric of his jeans.

_ — _

_ Head between his knees, Carlos realized how much he loved TK Strand. _

_ They were lying in bed together, chests heaving, Carlos carding his hands through TK’s sweaty, dishevelled hair. Even in his sex induced haze, Carlos could recount every inch of the man’s skin as his hands trailed around his body. Every bump, every bruise, every tattoo, Carlos could feel them all. He could see them all, even when he closed his eyes. _

_ “What are you thinking?”  _

_ Carlos opened his eyes to see TK, his dopey grin cutting through any sliver of doubt in his mind. The other had brought his hand to Carlos’s bare hip, feeling around the bone. Carlos knew that TK was messing with him, just from the look in his eyes, but Carlos let him indulge. “I’m thinking about how much I love you,” Carlos replied, “and how amazing that sex was.” _

_ Tk chuckled, his other hand reaching up to grab at Carlos’s jaw and bring him in for a slow kiss. It was intimate; soft, yet playful, and Carlos found himself whining when TK pulled away. “Hm,” he said. “That’s strange, I don’t recall any sex?” _

_ “Shut up,” Carlos laughed. He leaned forward again, continuing to let his hands trail over TK’s body.” _

_ But TK smiled anyway. “You know I was thinking about how much I love you, too. Great minds, I guess.” _

_ Carlos grinned, pulling Tk closer; chest to chest. “I guess so.” _

—

“Don’t, no, stop, you can’t! Please!”

Carlos awoke with a jolt from whatever restless sleep he was having to the sound of Owen’s voice. It was loud, and it was desperate, and though Carlos was exhausted, and trying to forget the last twenty-four hours, he still was on alert the moment he heard Owen’s cry. 

He was up and out of bed in seconds, back pressed against the wall in case of intruders, but when he peeked his head out the door, the house was quiet and dark, and Carlos could still hear Owen crying.

_ He probably doesn’t need me. _

_ TK had nightmares all the time. You helped him? _

_ Owen isn’t TK. TK’s gone. _

Carlos felt a pang of fear at the thought, followed up by a suffocating guilt blanketing his chest. He tried to shake it off, but it was no use.

_ What harm would it do? _

Carlos sighed, slowly tip-toeing down the hall until he reached Owen’s room. He waited for a moment, pondering whether or not he should turn the knob when Owen cried out again, more of a scream, this time; guttural, afraid.

_ “No!” _

Carlos needed no further invitation. He tore open the door and stumbled to Owen’s bed. He found the man’s shoulders and shook him slightly. “Owen!” He tried. “Owen, Owen! Wake up!” Carlos found himself shaking the man with a little more urgency, hands squeezing his shoulders until Owen shot up, hands gripping at Carlos’s wrists, fresh hot tears streaming down his face.

“Carlos?”

“Owen, hey, yeah. It’s me. It’s Carlos.”

Carlos found his brain freezing time for a second or two, etching the horrified, grief stricken look on his face into Carlos’s mind, forever. His eyes were red and droopy, his pupils blown, and no matter how hard he tried, Owen could not get his lip to stop quivering.

And then Owen was in his arms, and it was Carlos’s turn to be the rock.

Carlos pulled him close, feeling Owen’s fingers grip the fabric of his t-shirt. It wasn’t an uncommon feeling for Carlos. The situation was familiar. He’d done this before, just never with the oldest Strand.

TK had taken after his dad, a lot, Carlos was beginning to realize. Owen had that same jittery leg thing, he had the same fists, the same sayings. TK was basically a carbon copy of Owen, and it was really beginning to show.

“I was there,” Owen cried. “I was there, and he was there and I could have saved him but he… he jumped and I—”

Carlos felt his vocal chords constrict, forcing a tiny sound out of his throat. He stared off, just for a moment, collecting his thoughts before speaking. “You can’t… you can’t do that to yourself, Owen.” He felt like a hypocrite, spewing senseless, stupid repetitions of what he’d heard from the other man not even hours before.

But they’d helped at the time, and Carlos didn’t know what to do.

So he sat there, holding onto Owen, rubbing circles onto his back until both of them slowly drifted to sleep, slumped together in desperation.

—

_ “What are your intentions with my son, Officer?” _

_ Carlos gulped. He looked up at the captain, slightly desperate, a little frustrated. He came by to pick up TK, but the other was still in the shower, so Carlos was learning first hand what Owen Strand’s shovel talk was like. _

_ And it wasn’t very good. _

_ “To have fun, sir?” Carlos tried, earning a pointed look from the man. He flinched, sensing that it was the wrong answer, but it didn’t deter him from continuing. “I, uh, I care about him a lot, Captain, and I guess I just want to show him that.” _

_ Owen seemed to soften at the admission. He took a seat across from Carlos, a grin slowly spreading across his lips. He gripped the armrest of the chair and spoke. “Is that it? That’s all you’re in it for?” _

_ “Look, all due, Captain,” Carlos began. He let his eyes make their way up from the floor, to the armrest, to Owen’s face. He locked gazes with the man, slightly frustrated. “TK has told me so much about himself that he told me he’s never told anyone, and it just seems like he hasn’t been loved enough in the past by any of his boyfriends. Even if he doesn’t even want to be, you know, boyfriends, I still just want to show him what it looks like to have someone other than his father and coworkers looking out for him, in his corner.” Carlos had made sure to articulate each word, but he smiled at the end, as if to soften the blow of what he was saying.  _

_ The weight of the context still laid heavy in the air, though. TK had told Carlos things that he never would have imagined, and by the look on Owen’s face, Carlos was beginning to be able to gauge just how much sharing from the other should be out of the ordinary. _

_ And Carlos was well past ordinary in that department.  _

_ “What has he told you?” Owen asked, his piercing blue eyes meeting Carlos’s intense brown ones. _

_ “He told me about New York; told me about Alex; told me about his problem,” He made a mental note to not bring that up again, seeing Owen flinch. “I don’t know. He told me what matters to him. I was just there to listen.” _

_ “He’s… Fragile,” Owen said, glancing towards the living room doorway. “He’s had his heart broken so many times that he doesn’t know who to trust. I just want to make sure he’s trusting the right person.” _

_ Carlos squinted, feeling the energy in the room shift, once again. He could tell that Owen’s once smug, condescending demeanor had switched to a more sincere one. Carlos admired it. He could tell how much Owen really cared about his son, even when TK had told him about his childhood. Owen’s absence was something that both Strands grew to resent, but Owen was making up for it, now, and he was doing a damn good job.  _

_ “Captain, I assure you that I would never do anything to hurt him. He’s too special for that. He just… deserves someone in his corner, you know? Rooting for him. Besides you, of course.” _

_ Owen closed his eyes, a tiny smile playing at his lips. “I like you, Carlos. Don’t make me regret that.” _

_ “I won’t, sir.” _

_ — _

By the time morning came, Carlos was face down on the floor of Owen’s bedroom, only awakening at the sound of gentle knocks on the front door. Vaguely, he could hear Owen snoring on top of the bed, and Carlos sighed. He knew it was most likely not his place to answer Owen’s visitors, but he could piece together why they were there, and Owen was still sleeping. He wasn’t going to deprive him of that after last night. After Carlos had nearly drifted off, and Owen had calmed himself down, Carlos heard the other on the phone. He could tell he was speaking with Gwyn the moment the other voice had rang through his tinny phone speaker, but Carlos was too exhausted, both physically, and emotionally, to stay awake.

However, when Carlos actually got a decent look at the alarm clock next to Owen’s bed, he blinked awake quickly.

_ 3:23PM _

He had no idea how he’d slept that long, but he knew Gwyn probably got a flight back immediately after that phone call, and she was most likely the one knocking on the door.

So Carlos stood up, tore the door open, and hoped the tear stains weren’t too visible as he made his way to the front door. He stopped, heeding the welcome mat, and tore the door open.

“Carlos.”

“Gwyn.”

He let his eyes scan her for any signs of distress, because he knew that she would try to hide it. But she was too exhausted, and he could tell, because her usual tall, lawyer like posture broke into a defeated slouch, and leftover mascara stains smudged over her cheeks as if she had just recently, hastily wiped them away.

Carlos didn’t register what he was doing before he was pulling her into his arms, letting her drop the suitcase in the doorway. He was trying his best to keep her from crying, but the way her body shook in his arms made it evident that the effort was useless. Carlos, instead, held his breath. He didn’t want to cry with her. She’d just come down, and Carlos wasn’t going to force her deeper into that pit of solemn silence.

So he just held her in his arms, voice shaking gently when he whispered. “Owen is asleep.”

Gwyn eventually stepped back from the hug, allowing herself to stand back and let her posture relax a little. She was back in stoic lawyer mode in the blink of an eye, wiping her tears off with her thumb and shaking her head. “I’m, I’m sorry, Carlos, I just… wasn’t expecting you to answer the door.”

Carlos couldn’t tell if he was supposed to be hurt by the comment, but judging by the fond look in her eyes he decided to let it slide. He wasn’t there to fight her when her son just died, and he knew she would never even dream of hurting him.

So, it was an easy silence that they slipped into. Gwyn brought her suitcases into the dining room and set them beneath the table, only pulling out her laptop. They stared at each other for a moment, the silence falling into a nervous tension, and their thoughts seemed to click in that moment.

“I got your email. You’re very punctual, Carlos, especially under, uh…” She swallowed, turning away from him. “Under such unfortunate circumstances.”

Carlos blinked, looking at Gwyn in confusion. He let himself think for a moment, holding up a finger to excuse himself as he pulled out his phone. He didn’t remember sending an email, especially not to Gwyn, but most of last night had been blocked out of his memory.

So, he wasn’t surprised to see an email to Gwyneth Strand at the very top of his sent folder, but what did knock him off guard was the subject line.

_ Sent from crey3zs@gmail.com _

_ Subject:  _ **_TK’s Will._ **

—

_ “What are you doing?” Carlos asked, tilting his head. _

_ TK was on the computer in his bedroom, staring at the desk with his lips pursed tightly. He resorted to a few desperate clicks before typing in a couple letters. “I’m updating my will,” he said. _

_ Carlos felt his face grow cold, frowning as he took a few steps forward to grab a shirt from his dresser. He settled on a black, form fitting shirt, and pulled it over his head. “Why on earth would you do that?” _

_ “Because I’m a firefighter and we are engaged. I need to rethink some stuff, in case anything ever happens to me.” His voice lowered at the second part, but Carlos never noticed. He was, instead, more focused on the morbid connotations behind updating a will. “Well, what are you rethinking?” _

_ TK shrugged, gesturing around them. “I mean, I’ve got so much stuff. All my old clothes go to my dad, he could use a couple decent modern shirts,” he joked, turning to look at Carlos. When Carlos rolled his eyes, TK sighed. _

_ “My Dad’s in remission now, so I think I’m going to put him on as executor, but my mom is really good with legal dealings, because, you know, she’s a lawyer, but I don’t want her on the long-term, especially more emotional type stuff; last wishes, that type of thing.” _

_ Carlos couldn't help but feel the pit growing in his stomach when TK started talking about it. He knew he asked, but it also seemed like his fiancé had had it figured out, pretty solid, like he was ready to die. _

_ “You get the car. I know you take such good care of your Camaro, if I ever wasn’t here I know you’d take care of mine, too. My dad gets my stocks, good and bad, because, well, investing is kinda stupid but he has a gambling problem. Nothing huge; I’m just transferring stuff around to you and my dad. It shouldn’t take long.” _ _  
  
_

_ “Hopefully we won't have to use this any time soon,” Carlos said, eyes grazing over the doc. He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his torso.  _

_ TK collapsed into his grip with a hum. “Yeah, hopefully.” _

_ — _

Going over legal dealings and funeral planning struck Carlos harder than he ever would have anticipated, and after a chicken nugget lunchable for dinner, he was back in TK’s bed.

Nathan had swung by earlier that day, turning in some of TK’s clothes and belongings that the police had used for evidence. 

Carlos couldn't believe the thought of foul play even crossed their minds, and yet, he wanted it to be. The idea that TK was murdered; pushed or something of the sort was almost more comforting than the actual truth.

It took the police department a day and a half days to rule out murder, and Carlos was almost entirely sure it was because the entire department was close to TK. He’d come in on off days, make some of the other officers lunch, or just hang around the precinct when he could. He was always a bright and shining face on calls, so Carlos knew most of the officers would find it hard to believe that he was actually compelled, by himself, to take his own life.

But he did, and now Carlos was laying in bed, clutching a bag full of TK’s clothes. Too scared to open it because if he did he would never be able to breathe again. He knew what the clothes were. They were TK’s skinny jeans, and his own AFD hoodie, and they probably smelled like TK and his stupid herbal essences shampoo mixed with Irish spring and blood and dirt and—

Carlos found himself opening the bag and bringing the jacket to his nose.

It just smelled like laundry detergent. They must have washed it.

Carlos whimpered, tossing the hoodie to the other side of the bed. Of course they washed it. Of  _ fucking _ course they did, because it smelled like blood and concrete and dust but that wasn't the point. It still smelled like TK. It smelled like TK, among every other bad thing sprinkled in. It smelled like TK, the one person who could pull Carlos out of his head on particularly rough days. It smelled like TK, the love of his life, his darling, his  _ amor. _ It smelled like TK, and they just washed him away. The last thing he was wearing; the last thing he ever touched, washed away and gone forever.

Just like he was.

Carlos felt his throat closing, his heart pounding, his eyes burning. He didn’t know what to do. He was about to throw the plastic bag in his hands against the wall in frustration, but something stopped him. He couldn’t tell if it was the little voice in his head telling him not to resort to violence. He couldn’t tell if it was the fact that TK had pictures up on that wall, untainted by his absence, and Carlos didn’t what to disturb them, or if it was the little yellow sheet of paper that caught his eye on top of his jeans.

Carlos didn’t know, and he didn’t care.

He set down the bag, letting his shaky hands reach in and grab at the sheet. He didn’t know what he was doing; it didn't register in his mind until he was unfolding the sheet of paper, and reading the sloppy handwriting.

_ Carlos, Dad, _

**_It’s not your fault._ **

That was it? That was all it said? No six pages of tearstained paragraphs? No explanation? Only that it  _ wasn’t their fault? _

How the hell was he supposed to live with that? Not knowing what was going through his head, what pushed him off the edge of that stupid fucking overpass? That wasn’t… This wasn’t— no, no, no, no, no, this _ can’t be it! _

Yet, it was. That was the only thing he had written down, no matter how much stared at the piece of paper; no matter how much he flattened it, and straightened it out, that was all it had said.

So, Carlos tried not to think about it, and reached back into the bag, pulling out TK’s only other belonging.

_ His engagement ring. _

Carlos felt the cool metal against his palm. He felt it heat up with the warmth from his hand. He never wanted to see this ring again if it wasn’t wrapped around his lover’s left ring finger. It was just a piece of oversized silver, to him; a piece of angry metal, taunting him because it represented something so much more. It was there to remind Carlos that he hadn’t been enough.

Yet, he couldn’t put it down.

Carlos felt himself closing in again, the room becoming too suffocating to breathe in. He dropped the bag, trying to close his eyes, avert his gaze, but every single item reminded him of TK. Every photo. Every magazine and shelf and lamp… He was there. He’s still there, but he’s not. He’s not. “He’s not here. He isn’t here.  _ Why isn't he here?” _

The next thing Carlos knew he saw a flash of blue, and he was back in Owen’s arms, clutching his bicep, sobbing, shaking and gripping onto the other man for dear life.

“I know, Carlos,” Owen muttered, voice strained. “I know, I miss him, too.”

—

_ “Carlos,” TK whimpered, shaking the other awake, sniffling a little as fresh tears dropped onto Carlos’s bare shoulders. _

_ The other man stirred quickly turning in a sleep induced haze to see TK, eyes wide and red, face wet with salty tears. _

_ He was up in a moment, bringing TK into his chest, cradling his face in one hand, letting the other hold him close. The boy was sobbing; small in comparison to Carlos. Carlos could feel every bone in both his and TK’s body shake with sobs, even as Carlos hushed him. _

_ “Hey, hey, T, look at me.” He pulled his chin up, all but gently forcing the other to look him in the eye. “What’s going on?” _

_ “I had a dream,” Tk whispered, barely audible against the sounds of the AC and TK’s sobs. “ I was… you and I were on a date, and we were being happy, talking about adopting a dog or something, and then all of the sudden the power went out and I couldn't find you and you were, I mean.. I was— you were, uhm—” _

_ Carlos hushed him by placing his thumb over his panicked lips, dragging it down after TK seemed to catch his breath. “It was just a dream. We have power, no one is hurt. You’re okay. I’m okay, okay? Just focus on me, right now.” _

_ “Can you… can you call my dad, too, please?” TK blinked, scooting further into Carlos’s lap.  _

_ Carlos pursed his lips, sighing. “Yeah, baby. I can call him.”  _

_ Owen had gone up to New York for a reunion for two weeks. Carlos could tell that the separation anxiety was getting to him, but he didn’t realize the magnitude of TK’s emotions. _

_ “I miss him, ‘Los.” TK practically sobbed. “I want him back home.” _

_ “He’ll be back soon, T. I miss him, too.” _

—

Carlos still slept in TK’s bed that night.

He still woke up in his bed, the next morning, without TK next to him

It was only the second day, waking up without the warm presence of his fiancé, and it had already felt like an eternity. Carlos was still fatigued; still dehydrated, but he couldn’t really motivate himself to get up. Especially after Gwyn showed up. She was taking care of Owen, for now, so he didn’t need to.

He could take some time for himself. 

It wasn’t like he wanted it, though. Every moment spent alone was constant reminiscing; constant replaying of the last words TK had ever said to him; how he begged him to stay. It was his fault, and he knew it. Maybe if he had actually called in, he and TK would still be on for a wedding. Maybe he and TK would be holding onto each other instead of Carlos clinging to a sad, deflated pillow that did nothing but remind him of the body that would once have been tangled in his arms. 

Carlos didn’t need time for himself. He needed TK.

He thought the days of waking up to pounding on the door were over as soon as Gwyneth managed to stumble in, but judging by the knocks he’d heard from outside the room, he could tell that he was mistaken.

Carlos threw his legs over the side of the bed, his old, tattered sweatpants brushing against his ankles. He wasn’t sure if Owen and Gwyneth were awake, yet, and he didn’t want them to bother getting up if they weren’t.

So, he threw on a zip up APD hoodie, and stepped out of the room, scratching at the stubble on his chin. Carlos padded out past the dining room, towards the kitchen, eyes locked on the door. He had assumed, at this point, that it would be neighbors, offering their condolences to Austin’s favorite fire captain. Owen had moved there and turned it upside down. He’d helped so many people in so many ways, and he made sure to let the world know that his son had just as much to do with his success in Austin. He was the reason they moved, after all.

_ No other reason. _

Carlos flinched at the thought, and shoved it to the back of his mind as he approached the door. He had his hand on the handle when he heard footsteps behind him, and he turned to look at Owen, who looked like he really had just awoken. His hair was disheveled, eyes wide, and his under eye bags were a strong indicator that the spoon that had eternally been left in the freezer hadn't been touched for days.

“Owen,” Carlos blinked, slightly confused. “Are you expecting visitors?”

“Uh, yeah, actually.”

With a shrug, Carlos turned the handle to open the door. He was expecting neighbors, maybe a couple faces from across the street. He was not expecting two men, TK’s age, standing at the door, staring back at him with wide, nervous eyes.

“Khai, Lyle, how are you two?”

Carlos stepped away when Owen placed a hand on his shoulder, blinking a few times. He didn’t recognize these two, which made him believe that they were friends from New York, but if they were here, everyone else might know, now, too.

“Carlos,” Owen said, beckoning him over once he was done sharing hugs with the two boys. “This is Carlyle Moretti and Khai Nguyen. They worked with TK back in New York, all the way up until we moved down here.”

Carlos stared.

He didn’t mean it to be rude, but the two men standing in front of him were supposed to be firefighters, and yeah, they had the build, but they looked so weak, and frail. They weren’t even trying to hide the devastation on their faces.

It made Carlos think about how he looked, to them.

“Hi,” Carlos croaked. He shut his mouth, immediately, looking at Owen for some sense of direction, before deciding to save it with a quick, “I’m sorry. I just woke up.”

“Khai, Lyle,” Owen sighed, sensing Carlos’s tension. “This is Carlos Reyes. TK’s fiancé.”

Carlos flinched at the collective sigh of understanding in the room. He remembered, now, TK talking about his buddies from New York. He’d always brag on the ones he kept in touch with. He remembered the bright look in his eyes when he spoke to them over the phone. He remembered TK briefly bringing up the idea of honeymooning in New York, just to be able to see them.

“Oh,  _ you’re _ Carlos,” the taller one said. “Wow, he  _ really  _ talked about you.”

Carlos’s eyebrows raised, his heartbeat quickening. “He did?”

“Absolutely,” said the brunette. Lyle, he thinks, if his memory serves. “Sometimes he would call Khai on shift just to talk about you. Khai would always find me when he did, even after he moved.”

“Moved?” Owen blinked. “Khai, you’re not still at the 252?”

“Oh, no, sir,” The taller one answered. “I, uh, I captain EMS at the 229, now.”

There was silence, for a moment, and then, for the first time since Owen had arrived at the hospital, Carlos saw the man throw on an actual, genuine smile. “That’s awesome, Khai,” Owen said. He placed his hand on his shoulder, watching the other move away. 

“Yeah, I suppose it is. Lyle and I always grab lunch when we can; facetime TK. We were planning on coming down here to surprise him once our shifts lined up, but…”

Owen’s smile almost instantaneously dropped, and he sighed. “Uh, yeah,” he sniffed, closing his eyes. “Yeah, Carlos has TK’s room, right now, so if you two want me to put some air mattresses in the living room, or find you a hotel near here. I’ll pay for it, no problem.”

“Air mattresses might be nice,” said Lyle. “If it’s not too much of a bother.”

“It’s not.”

—

“And this guy looks up at TK, like three hundred feet above the ground, and goes,  _ ‘Can I have your number? _ ’ I kid you not, the look on his face was priceless.” Lyle was about three shots in, at this point, his figure lax, blending in against Owen’s suede couch. He had just been reminiscing on one of his favorite calls with TK.

Carlos wanted to laugh.

He forced a smile, and expelled a breath through his nose, unsure if he was able to speak.

“I mean, TK liked getting hit on, but while they were both dangling off an apartment complex in New York? He was like a different breed. I mean, yeah, he blushed, but he didn’t say anything until we were back in the rig. He climbs back into the truck, looks at me and Khai, and without missing a beat, he goes, ‘ _ not my type _ .’ I mean, are you kidding?”

“Oh, and he was  _ hot, _ too,” Khai chimed in, taking a swig of his wine. “Like, built like Chris Evans, looked like a supermodel, and TK passed that up for  _ Alex _ .”

“Do  _ not  _ act like you didn’t look him up on twitter that night,” Lyle interjected, eyes narrowing halfway. there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips, but his face remained challenging.

“You’re just jealous because I got to hook up with a clone of Chris Evans,” Khai shot back, lifting his wine to his lips.

_ “No, _ I’m still pressed because that guy might have been good for him and you act like it didn’t even matter,” Lyle protested. “And then you  _ slept with him.” _ He sounded serious, but his grin betrayed his amusement.

“TK said he wasn’t his type.”

“Because he was in a toxic relationship—“

“Come on, Lyle, it’s not like he didn’t score a dime piece in the end anyway.” Khai shot a playful grin in Carlos’s direction, unable to contain his laughter any longer. 

Lyle let out a matching chuckle, reaching over to the end table and grabbing the fireball. He poured some into a shot glass and downed it with one go, eyes shining in unshed tears. “How about you, Carlos? Got any good stories?”

Carlos stiffened, his hand shaking, fingers curling around his crystalline wine glass. He hadn’t had a drop, though. Part of him wanted to reach for the wine, or the whiskey, or Owen’s precious tequila cabinet, but he hadn’t drunk anything other than celebratory champagne since he met TK, and that was only on occasions which called for it.

He didn’t drink to numb the pain, like these two did, but he was starting to consider doing so.

Instead, he held sparkling cider in his hand, staring at his fiancé’s colleagues with a nervous glint in his eye.

“There are so many,” he sniffed, trying incredibly hard not to let his grief-stricken, shattered voice ruin the mood. “Where should I start? I mean, he did everything for me. On calls, there wasn’t a day where he wasn’t actively seeking me out. I mean, there was this one time where Owen had called in a citizen’s arrest. This woman faked a heart attack in order to keep from getting arrested. I showed up and she was already in zip ties because apparently she wouldn't accept help from anyone but Owen.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Yeah. TK talked about it a lot after we got together, but that was one of his first calls in Austin. Apparently she was every politically incorrect phobic in the book.”

The other two seemed to understand why it was such a remarkable story. As soon as Carlos had gotten there, TK was laughing with Paul about the whole endeavor. He was smiling, rolling his eyes, patting the other on the back.

_ TK was smiling. _

Carlos closed his eyes once more, taking a sip of his cider. He let his shoulders sag, taking a moment to open his eyes again. When he did, he saw the two looking at him, curious.

“How did you two get engaged?” Khai asked, after a moment, voice soft. He had a tiny bit of hope, there but Carlos could barely see it amidst his slightly drunken features.

_ Yeah. That makes sense. _

“I proposed at the station, on New Years,” Carlos said. “We were up on the balcony; he was excited about the fireworks. I was excited about him.”

“He always talked about you,” Lyle muttered from the couch. Carlos hadn’t noticed, but he now sat with his fist around the bottle of cinnamon whiskey, and the liquid inside barely moved when Lyle did.

Carlos swallowed, setting his own cup down on the table next to him. He felt his gaze drop to the floor, again, sniffing. “He did?”

Both Lyle and Khai seemed to share an unspoken moment together. It was as if they knew something Carlos didn’t, and, well, he couldn't blame them for their amusement when Khai spoke up. “Are you joking right now?”

“No.”

“Carlos, every time he called it was to talk about you.”

Carlos felt his face flush, and he found himself forcing a little smile. He couldn’t help but picture the image of TK, sitting in an on call bunk, spilling his guts to his friends while everyone was trying to sleep.

“Did he call you on graveyard shifts, too? I’m pretty sure Judd almost broke his phone, once, when he did that with me.”

Khai chuckled. “I always hear of this Judd. I’ve heard his voice, but I’ve never actually seen him.” 

“You’ll probably meet him at the funeral.”

Carlos found himself stiffening at his own words, his face contorting, momentarily, as he tried to force his emotions back down into the pit in his stomach. He had been doing so well. He had even smiled, even for a brief moment. He didn’t want these two to think he was weak. If he had any chance of maintaining this friendship, and gaining some reminders of who his fiancé was, he needed to prove that he wasn’t going to make the same mistake as TK did.

Though he wasn’t quite sure he believed that, himself.

“You know, Carlos,” Lyle said, dropping the empty bottle of fireball at his feet. “He wouldn’t want you to keep it in.”

Carlos shook his head, and both boys instinctively moved closer in concern.

“Carlos—”

“I found him,” Carlos whispered. 

“What?”

“I was on duty. I picked up an extra shift to help pay for the wedding. I wanted to give him everything he wanted for that stupid wedding because he deserved it…” Carlos let out a harsh sob. “All he wanted was me. I left him. I left him alone that morning after he begged me to stay and I found him at the bottom of an overpass and—” He inhaled, loud. “It’s all my fault. He’s gone because I didn’t listen. I knew he was getting bad again but I trusted him to tell me and now he’s gone because I was  _ fucking _ ignorant.”

He sucked in a breath, shaking his head quickly. Normally, when he would get like this, especially after a particularly rough call, he would seek out TK. Whether that be in their shared home, or the station, Carlos didn’t care.

So, when he felt someone’s hand on his back, and looked up, and it  _ wasn’t _ TK?

Carlos broke down again.

He was so tired of this. It had been three days. Three days of waking up at two in the afternoon. Three days of watching the window. Three days of staring at his phone, hoping the game of cup pong that he had sent back in a panicked induced haze would somehow pop up again. Three days of knowing that it had been his move all along.

And he fucking missed.

“Carlos, you couldn’t have known.”

“I should have known!”

“You didn’t.”

“But I should have!”

“But you didn’t,” spoke the small, broken voice of Owen Strand. Carlos only allowed himself to see Lyle tear his hand from his back when both boys looked up to the man. Owen was standing with his own shot glass in his hand, tequila probably coursing through his veins at infinite speed.

“Boys,” Owen started, leaning down to pick up the empty bottle of fireball. He gave Carlyle a disappointed, but not judging look, before moving to Khai. He gently took the red wine from the boy’s hands. “I’m officially cutting you off. If you show up at my son’s funeral with a hangover I will call your captains and tell them that you skipped out on work to drink; not to grieve, you hear?”

“I am my own captain, Captain,” Khai muttered.

“Yeah, well then I’ll make you refill my fireball.” He looked at Lyle, who glanced at Khai, then Owen, and then decided it best to shrink in on himself, ashamed.

“All due, Owen, I’m pretty sure they  _ really _ needed this,” said Carlos, wiping his eyes. “Plus, it seems like you're going a little heavy on the tequila, there.”

“I know my limits, son. You want some?” Owen held out the bottle.

“I don’t drink.”

“Even now?”

“I promised him.” Carlos sniffed, leaning back on the couch. He was positive that he was the only sober one in the house, the rest having had too many shots or glasses of their respective alcohol to see straight. 

_ He promised you, too. _

—

It snowed, the day of the funeral.

Normally, it would have sent an enthusiastic spark through Carlos; to see the white flakes collecting on the ground. Normally, Carlos would be shaking TK awake, excited, voice somewhere between a cry and a screech in pure happiness.

But, today, it just made his bed feel even colder.

Carlos had woken up to his alarm. He’d set it especially early, because for the first time in four and a half days, he was going to force himself to get out of bed; to shower and get ready. It still took him a few snoozes and a few more tears to actually push himself out of bed.

It was only then did he realize just how long he’d spent at Owen’s.

The last time his feet were ever planted somewhere outside the confines of this house, Carlos was clinging to Nathan outside the cruiser.

He wasn’t sure he could ever leave the house again. 

A gentle knock on the door pulled him out of his memory, and Carlos looked up, expecting to find Owen.

The man was there, sure, but he was half dressed; dishevelled, and turning on his heel to get out of the doorframe, leaving only Carlos’s mother in his line of vision.

Carlos quietly cursed himself. He hadn’t told her what happened, explicitly. All he knew was that she found out (most likely from news coverage). She’d texted him relentlessly that night, talking him through everything, but Carlos, at one point, decided he didn’t want to hear it, so he sent her the funeral date, turned his phone off, and hadn’t turned it back on since. 

“Mami?” He whimpered, almost backing away from her. His lip quivered at the sight of her, clutching two coffee cups close to her. He didn't deserve this. He didn't need her to come in here and take pity on him. He didn’t want to admit that he really,  _ really  _ needed her.

He just wanted to curl up and cry like he has been for the past four and a half days.

“Hola, mijo,” she said. “You disappeared on me.”

“I’m sorry,” Carlos replied. He quickly brought his palm to his eyes, pressing sleep and tears out of them. He couldn’t do this to her; especially not today. He knew Owen needed him, and he knew his mom needed him to be better.

He didn't think he ever would be.

“I didn’t mean to ghost you. I just couldn’t be on my phone. Everyone was texting me and I couldn't take it. I turned my phone off.” His voice broke at the end. His eyes drifted slowly to the ground, unable to hold eye contact with her. He was shaking, about to break, and there was something about her sympathetic eyes that would force it out of him.

“Carlos,” she said, near silent. “I’m not upset with you, alright? I just needed to know that you were okay.”

Carlos felt his throat close, the muscles contracting, forcing him to forget how to breathe. He almost brought his hand to his neck to ease some of the tension, but he didn't want his mother to worry.

How could he be okay? 

“I’m okay, Mami,” Carlos whispered. “Really, I… I’m…”

“You don’t need to lie to me, Carlitos,” she replied, taking a few steps into the room. 

Carlos leaned back, almost cowering away from her kind voice. He didn’t get to have this. He didn’t deserve support, not after everything that he let happen. The only thing he needed right now was about to be buried six feet under.

“I’m not lying,” he croaked, bringing a knee to his chest. He placed his head on his knee, sniffling gently. 

“I brought you some coffee,” she tried, extending the cup out towards her son. “Thought it might help warm you up.” She also pulled out a dry cleaning bag, hanging it on the rack in TK’s closet. “And something to wear.”

Carlos normally would have jumped at the offer of coffee. He would have taken the cup from her grasp with a swift thank you and a hug, but today wasn’t normal. Nothing would be normal again, and he hated recalling when it was, because all he could see was his face; the smile on it when Carlos would come home; the way his nose scrunched up in the mornings. That was normal. That was his. 

And now it’s gone.

He gently extended his hand out to his mother, meeting her halfway to grab the cup, but instead of taking a sip, Carlos set it on the end table and turned away. “Thank you.”

“Carlos,” she said, voice low.

“What?” He shot back. He pulled his other knee up to his chest, now, covering his bottom with a blanket. 

“He wouldn’t want this.”

“Clearly, I had no idea what he wanted,” he growled, shying away when she reached for his face.

He still didn't want anyone touching him.

“Mijo, I can’t even begin to imagine what this has done to you,” she murmured, sitting down on the bed next to him. He tensed when she placed her hand on his knee, but he didn’t shy away, ”but, please, ‘Los, I’ve barely heard from you. You can’t distance yourself from everyone you love when you need them the most.”

“I need  _ him _ ,” Carlos cried. The words were more emotion-laced than he had initially anticipated. They were a reflection of how he was actually feeling; of what his mother saw from the moment she stepped into the room. Carlos wasn’t okay, and he didn't know why he was pretending to be; laying in bed all day but never actually sleeping. Staring at the ceiling, seeing him every time he closed his eyes, hearing his voice in the dead silence of night. He was looking for something; for anything to ground him and bring him back to his reality; the one where TK was still alive; where he was  _ okay, _ and Carlos had actually fucking  _ listened. _

He felt an arm snake around his shoulders, and before he knew it, he was back in his mother’s arms, facing the window, watching the snow begin to cake on the street. 

“I know,” She whispered, dragging careful fingers through his hair.

It was there, in his mother’s arms, watching the snow fall, thinking  _ maybe it’s him, _ that Carlos let himself break.

He thought he had cried himself dry four days ago when he had fallen asleep curled up in the front seat of Owen’s SUV. It had exhausted him to the point of sickness. He didn’t think he could do it again.

Yet, here he was, shaking and sputtering, letting his mom card gracious hands through his hair, using her other one to wipe his tears away.

He couldn’t do this.

“Mijo,” she tried again. “You’re going to be late.”

Carlos closed his eyes and nodded, trying his best to wipe the tears away. He leaned back against the bed, clawing at the sheets to find the clean pair of boxers and undershirt that he had already pulled out for today. He felt his mother squeeze his hand, and with a kiss on the head, she left the room.

Carlos was alone, again. It was starting to become an all too familiar feeling.

He glanced over to the closet, but didn’t look too hard. He knew what he was going to wear. It was the same thing he was going to wear a month from today, standing with TK in front of the altar, professing their everlasting love. He would never get to wear it, there, now. It was stuck in the future, a date that was so close, but would continue to move further and further away because there was no one to share it with, anymore.

Carlos trudged into the bathroom. He stripped down and turned on the tap, not even waiting for it to warm up before he stepped in. The water would take forever to heat with snow on the ground, and Carlos really didn’t want to waste water.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

The truth was, Carlos didn’t think he deserved warm showers. He didn’t think he deserved the coffee from his mother, or the welcome into Owen’s life because he let TK slip through his fingers. He didn’t stay with him. He didn’t listen, and now TK was gone because of it.

So Carlos took a freezing shower. Even lifting the shampoo and conditioner bottles were exhausting when TK wasn’t the one working it through his hair. Half the time, shower time was intimate, and cozy, allowing each other to put their trust in one another. He trusted TK. He adored TK, and for some reason, showering without him made it harder for Carlos to trust himself.

He pulled back the shower curtain, quickly scrambling to get his boxers and undershirt on. He toweled his hair dry, rubbing tired hands over his sensitive eyelids. 

Today was going to fucking suck. 

He jogged back to the room, looking into TK’s now empty closet, to see one, large dry cleaning bag hanging off the rack. He wrapped his fingers around it, throat clenching with his fists. He was lucky his mom had remembered to bring it here, or else he would be showing up in three day old pyjamas to his fiance’s funeral.

TK would’ve laughed.

Carlos found himself flinching at the thought, his heart pounding in his ears. The pounding drowned out the noise downstairs. Carlos could barely hear his mother, small talking Owen, prodding at Khai and Lyle like they weren’t just as broken as her son was. He wanted to go down there and defend them, but after the vague memory of their first night here, how they seemed to charm every person they came in contact with (even when Lyle had a full bottle of whiskey coursing through his veins), he figured they probably didn’t mind the inquisitive eyes of Andrea Reyes as much as Carlos thought they would.

Carlos unzipped the bag, running his fingers over the satin fabric, jaw clenching when he saw that the original lavender dress shirt was replaced with a black one, and there was a note on the hanger.

_ Mijo, _

_ I figured you’d still want to look nice for your boy. _

Carlos felt the hot tears building behind his eyes again, his heart beginning to pound as he hastily ripped the shirt from the hanger and threw it over his shoulders. He buttoned it quick, pulling the blazer on over it, before finally forcing his legs into the slacks.

He felt like a fraud.

He shouldn’t look this well put together when he was falling apart. He should have shoved on a pair of black sweatpants and a t-shirt on and called it good. He didn’t want to fool the world into believing that this was just another loss to him; that he’d eventually move on, find some other guy that would force his heart to do cartwheels in his chest.

He didn’t want anyone else, though.

He wanted those stupid, kind, green apple eyes, and that crooked smile, and those neat bushy eyebrows and that soft sultry voice and that pale vanilla skin and soft brunette hair that always kinda-sorta smelled like smoke.

He wanted TK.

Carlos sighed, snatching TK’s ring, now attached to a chain, from his dresser. He examined it for a few moments, all too aware of the scratches on the metal, before he pulled the chain over his head, leaving the ring to dangle near his heart.

Carlos found himself nauseated as he pushed himself through the bedroom door. He took slow steps, hearing the dining room downstairs hush at the sound of his footsteps. He made it halfway down the stairway before seeing their faces. Owen was seated with Gwyn right next to him. She had her arms around him, and his glossy eyes flicked between his ex wife, his almost-but-not-quite son in law, and Carlos’s mother, who was sitting across the table. The moment they all seemed to collectively stop and stare at him, though, made the pounding in his chest seem to cease, and the nausea take hold. He held up a finger, a very shaky finger, and turned to sprint back up the stairs and into the bathroom.

As he knelt over the toilet, noting how there seemed to be more tears dropping into the bowl than vomit, he heard a gentle knock. Carlos didn’t open the door to see who it was. He, instead, let the person kneel next to him, and place a hesitant hand on his back.

“I used to have to do this with Khai, all the time, when TK moved out here.”

Though he’d only known him for the better part of a week, Carlos found a certain comfort in the dulcid tones of Carlyle Moretti’s voice. He realized he’d had a lot of practice in New York, with Khai being about as panicky as TK was. Carlos had picked up on it, almost immediately, the way the taller boy seemed to hover around Lyle, never really leaving him alone.

Carlos also made the connection that Lyle didn’t seem to mind at all.

“Doesn’t he need you, now?”

“He and I are both in agreement that you need me more.”

Carlos grimaced, leaning back over the toilet, dry-heaving for another minute, before he sat back on his knees, leaning against the bathtub.

“It’s my fault.”

“Carlos, you know it’s not—”

“He was getting worse, and I saw it and I didn’t want to believe it and I—”

“You went to work, Carlos, to provide for him, and make his wedding special. There was no ill intent, there. I know that, you know that, and I’m willing to bet money that he knew that, too.” Lyle ducked to meet Carlos’s gaze, but the panic still sickened him.

“If I had—”

“Stop it, Carlos,” Lyle said, moving to where his long legs were crossed in front of him on the bathroom floor. He reached out and grabbed Carlos’s hand. “You can spend your entire life blaming yourself for something out of your control. God knows I have.” Lyle looked up at him, sucking in a deep, nervous breath. “I was twenty, when I almost lost them both.”

Carlos looked up, teary gaze piercing through Lyle’s heart. “What?”

“TK had a life before Texas; one that I don’t think he shared with a lot of people. We were… we were just kids. I was barely out of my probationary stage, and there was this huge warehouse fire downtown Manhattan. Captain Strand—Owen had stuck me on damage control, since we didn’t have a new probie yet, and I was the youngest. TK and Khai were sent in; buddy system, you know? They were evacuating; looking for survivors, and then Owen started yelling through the radio, telling them to get out; that it was still unstable and then there was this explosion, and there were screams and I just—” 

Carlos thought he saw the other’s lip tremble, just for a moment.

“I thought they were both dead. Everyone thought that. No one could have made it out of there alive. Coms weren’t working. I’ll never forget the look on Owen’s face.” Lyle took a breath. “We were so sure; we were so scared… and then TK comes hobbling out with Khai on his back and he’s crying and Khai is screaming and TK had to set him down and he was just—”

“Burnt beyond recognition,” Carlos finished, forcing Lyle to look up at him with wide eyes. 

“Yeah. How did you—“

“TK told me that story. He didn’t… he didn’t like talking about it.” Carlos wiped his face, breath hitching. “It’s kind of hard to be engaged to someone without knowing all of their scars; the stories behind them.” 

Lyle took a breath, sniffing quickly. He shook his head with a wistful chuckle. “I was so sure he was…”

Carlos felt his throat rumble, and he closed his eyes. He leaned his head back in an attempt to hold his breath; to keep the sobs at bay. 

“I just hope he’s happy.”

Carlos felt a sad laugh claw its way out of his mouth at the sentiment. He was pretty positive that, no matter where he was, TK Strand was experiencing some level of happiness. Part of him, as demented as it felt to think, believed that he was happy in some way all the way to the end, even when he was so clearly suffering. TK always wore a smile, even when he was in the worst pain imaginable. Even when he cried, he always managed to chuckle at Carlos’s sorry attempt at a joke.

Maybe Carlos let that happiness run out; let it drain like the last grain of sand in the hourglass. 

Regardless, he hoped TK was happy, too.

Carlos wiped his eyes, taking a moment to push the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. He let himself breathe for a minute, almost missing when Lyle placed his hand on his shoulder. He watched the other smile sadly before he stepped out of the bathroom to let Carlos get a hold of himself.

Then, it was just Carlos, again.

From the moment Tyler Kennedy Strand waltzed into his life on a cold, rainy January night, Carlos knew that it was going to be the two of them against the world. One look at those apple green irises and he was done for; completely gone. He was immersed in this ever growing enigma that was TK, following every movement blindly because he was so in love.

Now, staring at himself in the mirror, hands braced, white knuckles on the counter, Carlos never felt more alone.

He contemplated punching the mirror; throwing a tantrum and breaking the glass, but his mind supplied him with the fact that that would only hurt him, and maybe give Owen something to fix.

It wasn’t his home. It wasn’t his mirror.

But it was his fiancé.

If Carlos could have gone his entire life breaking everything he touched, just so he could try and fix his lover; mend the broken pieces of his heart, then Carlos would gladly be sleeping on the dirt without a dollar to his name. 

His self control was the death of him. His self control was the death of TK, too, because if he had just let go… if he had just indulged in one sick day, TK would still be alive. They would still have their noses in their phones looking for wedding photographers.

Carlos wouldn’t be alone, staring at himself in the mirror, about to send the love of his life away forever, to a place where he could not follow.

—

_ “I’m sorry, Carlos. I messed up so bad,” He whimpered, hands shaking as he gripped tightly onto the hoodie that Carlos had slid over his torso just moments before. “I didn’t mean to, okay? I was just—” _

_ “Stop it, TK,” Carlos mumbled, turning back to look at the other. He could tell by the look in his eyes; the fear in his expression, that he wasn’t lying. That he hadn’t meant for this to happen. _

_ They never do. _

_ “Are you sure you don’t need to go to a hospital, TK? Have you called your sponsor?” _

_ “My sponsor relapsed,” TK cried, and Carlos felt his eyes close in understanding. _

_ He turned around and shut the bedroom door, eyes glancing around frantically at every part of their shared bedroom door. He was looking for hiding spots; for drugs or cash or substances or razors or— anything, but when he came up short, he found himself sitting down across from TK, and taking his hands in his own. “I’ve got you, you know that?” Carlos murmured, letting one hand reach up to cup TK’s cheek. “I’ve got you. You’re strong and smart and this is just a minor setback.” _

_ “Carlos, I used.” _

_ “And then you told me, TK.” Carlos wiped a tear from his cheek. “No one is perfect, okay? You aren’t. I’m not. Your dad isn’t. There will be times in which we feel like everything is spinning out of control and no one can help us, but, Ty, baby, can’t you see that, even when you did feel like that, you came to me? You told me and you're letting yourself get help. I am so insanely proud of you, baby.” _

_ TK leaned into his touch, eyes closing as fresh tears dripped into his lover’s palm. “I love you,” he whispered. “And I’m not… I’m not going anywhere that you can’t follow.” _

—

Carlos would be lying if he hadn’t considered it.

He’d be lying if he hadn’t considered insisting on driving and pulling the steering wheel at the last second. He’d be lying if he hadn’t considered sending everyone else off to the viewing ceremony so he could see TK again, without his lover being a cold corpse in front of him.

But now, his hands in that same white knuckle grip, this time holding onto the edge of an open casket, Carlos had nowhere else to go.

Nathan had met up with them at the funeral home, and was waiting outside when Carlos managed to slide out of his car. He hadn’t talked much with Carlos, ever since the incident. Carlos wasn’t sure if he could take listening to him speak, especially when his last memory of his best friend was him telling Carlos to calm down; his arms around him by the cruiser; his arms around him in the hospital.

But now that he was here, Carlos found it the slightest bit comforting.

Carlos had approached the casket first, his head trying to supply any distraction from it’s contents. He knew that, later, there would be a memorial service, and they never would lower his fiancé into the ground. He knew that later, TK would be nothing but dust in his hands. He knew that later, he would be letting him go, forever, but right here, right now, Carlos couldn’t tell if that was more painful than this.

The first thing he noticed was the haphazard makeup job done on his fiancé, to make him look less sickly. His face had practically been painted a similar tone of beige to his skin tone, but it wasn’t quite matched, considering he’d already been dead for a day before they even got him to the funeral home. 

Carlos had memorized every hair on his head; every pore on his face; every freckle in his face, no matter how light they were. He memorized each crack in his lips, each eyelash as they batted down on his skin in the early hours of the morning. 

He had memorized TK Strand, and the man laying in front of him was  _ not _ his fiancé.

He felt his breath pick up, staring downward at the body, the hushed mumbles of TK’s loved ones seeming to muffle into a dull ringing in his ears. He knew he should stay. He knew he should stay and wait until everyone was done, and that he should say goodbye, properly, but the more everyone around him spoke, the more silent TK became.

He wasn’t a quiet man. TK Strand was always loud and full of energy and ready to start a fight, no matter how playful or angry he was. With everyone else talking, saying things, reminiscing like he had done with Khai and Lyle mere nights ago, everything felt out of place.

_ Wake up. _

Carlos shook his head and tried to catch his breath.

_ Wake up, TK, please just wake up _ .

He knew it was useless.

“Baby,” He whispered, pretending; hoping that, wherever he was, TK could hear him. “I… I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to ruin everything. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but… come on.”

“Carlos,” Nathan warned.

“No,” Carlos shot back, his voice quivering. “No, this… he—” He could feel himself spiraling again. He could feel his lips trembling, his hands shaking and his eyes beginning to water all over again. He could close his eyes and he would be back on those railroad tracks, treading carefully close to a victim that he wasn’t ready to see. 

He could look in that casket and be back on those railroad tracks, seeing the blood pooling around his lover’s skull, his body motionless and bent in every direction.

He could hear Nathan’s voice and be back on those railroad tracks, feet scraping against the gravel, panic in his chest as his partner pulled him back, wawey from the motionless body on the rocks.

Carlos could do anything, and he would be back there.

He felt arms snake around him. Strong, young, vanilla arms that he knew all too well. He almost found himself elbowing Nathan, just to get out of his grip while the other dragged him back, but Carlos conceded, because he knew he was only going to make everything worse.

_ You’re not the only one who lost somebody. _

He let himself slump into the man’s arms as he pulled him back into a room. An array of food was set up, and a couple of tables. He wasn’t sure what they were doing back here, though. Viewing wasn’t over, and that could have been the last time he ever got to see TK, and—

“Deep breaths, Reyes.”

“Shove it, Lovell.”

He pretended not to notice the way Nathan deflated. He knew that the other was struggling as well. It was a traumatizing situation, and Carlos realized that with a pang of guilt.

But that guilt only added to the everlasting anger he felt towards himself, and the world, right now.

Carlos dug his nails into his forearms, leaning over the table with shaky breaths. His eyes were clouded in panic and tears, and his heart kept racing, faster and faster until he found it hard to breathe. Nathan had sat next to him the whole time, not letting himself touch Carlos. Carlos knew he was treading lightly, and he hated that he made him feel like he needed to, but, he kind of did.

Nathan was always such a rock for him. Carlos remembered their first call. How it had been more of a medical call if anything. It had been a couple of teens, high off their asses, lost in the woods. Carlos didn’t remember the details. They’d been fuzzy for a while, but he remembered after, sitting back in the cruiser, relaxed, cracking jokes with his new friend. 

They weren’t joking, now.

Carlos didn’t notice when other people started filing into the room. He was still frozen, stuck to the seat, staring into space. He vaguely registered someone speaking to him, trying to get his attention, but he didn’t move until a sad, catered sandwich was placed in front of him.

Carlos tore his gaze up to see Owen Strand, dressed in all black except for the silver pendant that dangled from his neck.

_ TK’s 252 medallion _ .

Carlos looked away again.

“You have to eat, son,” Owen said, dropping next to him. 

Carlos could feel the bile rising in his throat at the very mention of ingesting anything, so he swallowed, and shook his head.

“He wouldn’t want you to do this,” Owen tried.

“He isn’t here.”

“Carlos…”

“I’m fine,” he growled, but Owen wasn’t convinced.

The older man shook his head and opted for a subject change while Carlos's gaze fell back upon the sandwich in front of him. “You know, I remember the first time he ever talked to me about you.”

“Yeah?” Carlos questioned, though his eyes didn’t move. There was no hope to his voice; no excitement or sense of resolve at the sound. It was dull, and quiet. Carlos chose to pick at the sandwich.

“He was in the hospital,” Owen began. “After he got shot. I was having this fling with a girl, and he asked about her, and I refused to tell him anything until he told me how long he’d been seeing you.”

“Where are you going with this?” Carlos grumbled, pulling pieces of shredded lettuce out, one by one. His eyes were practically glued to the sandwich as he picked it apart, disassembling it from the inside out. It was metaphoric, in a way, him doing to this poor sandwich what TK had done to him. He ate away at all his resolve, and picked him apart, brick by brick. He told him he loved him, and that he would never leave him, yet here he was, watching this sandwich slowly crumble in between his fingertips.

“He told me you two had been seeing each other since the first call we had as a station. Apparently you caught his eye while you were talking me through that whole situation. You know, baby in a tree and all that.”

“Yeah, I remember, Owen.”

“I think he knew, then, though,” said Owen. “He knew that you were it for him, and I can’t imagine your timing being any better. I mean, he was a wreck when we moved. You know that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“But after he came home from the hospital, half of our conversations led back to you. He told me to say hello on every call you and I had, together, especially if he wasn’t on shift that day. The day you two made it official, god, he was giddy coming back from yours. I’ve never seen him so excited in my life.”

Carlos felt himself deflate, dropping one hand to his side. He let the other come up and catch his forehead. He remembered that day, vividly, under the stars, smiling as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. He remembered the way the green of TK’s irises matched the sky as the color danced around the atmosphere. Carlos remembered the feeling of having his breath stolen from him, and not minding, because the thief had been Tyler Kennedy Strand: his  _ boyfriend.  _

That breathlessness had been different from the breathlessness he now possessed. This was much more sinister; crippling, holding onto him for dear life even though Carlos had no idea how he could help. He just let it cling, deciding that breathing had been overrated anyway.

“He was pretty happy after he left,” Carlos supplied, but his head just wasn’t in the response.

“My point is, Carlos,” muttered Owen, “You made him happy. You made him happy, and that’s all I ever wanted for my son.”

Carlos was nearly caught off guard at that. The hand that had been holding his head up had moved back to the sandwich to start picking at it again. He saw one of his tears drip down onto the plate, and for a moment, wondered why it was Owen that he was speaking to. He sighed, forced his head up, and scanned the room for his parents, only to find them directly on the other side of him, Nathan having moved over.

And, even after seeing his parents there, the way his father’s eyes shone with gentle, reassuring tears, or the way his mother seemed to be holding back from hugging him because she just knew he wasn't up for that right now, Carlos still couldn’t stop himself from uttering the next words that spilled from his mouth.

“I clearly didn’t make him happy enough.”

_ “Carlitos.”  _ It was his father who said his name that time, his voice nearly forcing Carlos to sit up a little straighter. He still slumped over, though, knowing that his father was just trying to keep his mind from falling down that tempting, never ending rabbit hole.

“If I kept him happy—”

“This is not your fault.”

Both his mother’s and Owen’s voices rang in his ears, and Carlos closed his eyes once more. He loved them. He really did adore them, but having them here, telling him how to feel;  _ how to grieve,  _ Carlos felt sick.

“So what if it isn’t?” He snapped. “So what if it was a freak accident, or some messed up prank, or some panic inducing dream? I couldn’t give two shits whether or not it was actually my fault because it was  _ my job _ to protect him!  _ I  _ was supposed to keep him  _ safe! _ He was supposed to be able to count on me!” Carlos felt his voice break, and for a moment, he noticed everyone’s eyes on him.

He noticed the way Owen had closed his mouth in exasperation, opting to hold onto Gwyneth instead; the way his mother had grabbed his hand, and was squeezing it tightly. He could see Grace holding onto Judd as the man held the same blank expression, though the way his chest heaved gave his own panic away. He could see Marjan and Mateo staring at him, faces knitted into concerned expressions; how Paul seemed to tense up at his sudden outburst. He could see Nathan shaking his head out the door, and could barely hear the muffled voices of Carlyle and Khai, obviously tearful, mumbling, “Is he okay?”

_ No. _

And for the first time since he met TK and the new 126, he really didn’t care.

“I  _ left _ him,” Carlos murmured, knowing they had all heard the story by now, one way or another. It had been passed down the lines of Strand loved ones, but Carlos was going to reiterate how much it had been his fault. “He said he needed me and I took an _ extra _ shift and I fucking left him to fend for himself. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I don't care what anyone else says or does. I am  _ never _ going to forgive myself for that.”

“We ain’t asking you to,” Judd said, and Carlos could practically feel the sickness emanating from the man. He looked like hell. Grace was practically clinging to him. Nevertheless, he cocked his head to the side, signalling Carlos to come over.

And when Carlos obliged, the silence in the room slowly, but surely let up.

Once Carlos took a seat next to Judd, he could feel the man stiffen. He watched Grace slowly move her hands over his shoulders in a nervous, meticulous pattern as he sniffled.

“I have spent every day for the past five years of my life thinkin’ it was my fault for bein’ in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Judd blinked. “It’s hell, always rethinkin’ every decision you make, tracin’ back your steps tryin’ to figure out what went wrong.”

Carlos opened his mouth to speak, possibly to cut him off, but Grace shot him a look that silenced him immediately.

Judd continued. “I have looked high and low, searched Heaven above for some reasoning; some sense that could have been made from this, but I ain’t found nothin’ yet. I’m not gonna sit here and let you fall into that same trap, Carlos. I ain’t losing another brother.”

Carlos shut his eyes in realization, moving his hand to clutch at the other man’s knee. He felt the trembling keg settle beneath his palm, and watched as Judd wiped away some of his tears. 

“I get that you’re hurting, brother. Believe me. No one ever gets over anything like this, but you know, at some point you will be faced with a decision to let this eat away at you, or forgive yourself, and maybe, just maybe, go on livin’.”

“What if life isn’t worth living if he’s not in it?” asked Carlos.

Judd shrugged, maneuvering himself so he could sit back and lean on Grace. He craned his neck back and planted a small kiss on her jaw, and she, in return, placed a gentle one to his lips. Judd then faced Carlos once more. “Keep him in it.”

Carlos drew his eyebrows together, his breath hitching. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Judd began. He shuffled uncomfortably in his pockets for a bit, before turning to Carlos with his phone and wallet in hand. When he turned on the screen, Carlos was almost surprised to see the lock screen was of the old 126 and their families, taken in Judd’s back yard. They were all standing, with some variation of barbecue in their hands, the kids on the grass, all smiling. Carlos remembered some of them. He remembered occasionally going to Judd’s place when Grace had insisted she had cooked too much southern-style-potato casserole (though Grace was a good cook, Judd had bland taste buds at best). He remembered running into some of them on calls, having bantered with a few of them on several occasions.

Judd then opened his phone, and on his home screen there was a similar photo; taken when the 126 had gotten together with friends and family for New Year's. They were all huddled up on the couch, and Carlos could see himself, his arm around TK, smiling like love-drunk teenagers, matching rings on their fingers.

“They’re still a part of my life, Reyes. They never stopped. He never will either.”

Carlos let out a choked sob, almost reaching out towards the phone, but stopping just shy of the screen. He had that photo framed at home, right on top of his dresser. It was one of the first things he saw waking up every morning, ensuring that TK was always the first thing on his mind.

He wasn’t sure if there would be a day that he didn’t wake up thinking about those deep green eyes, or his raspy morning voice, or the way his hair flopped into his face when he hadn’t had any product in it, or his perpetually-chapped lips, or the burn of his cheeks against Carlos’s chest at the end of the night.

But now there was a weight to it. Thinking about him would come with a price, a feeling of dread mixed with a feeling of undying love that, if he wasn’t careful, would drive him into the ground.

But it was a weight that he was willing to carry if it meant that he could keep TK around, even if only in memory.

“Thank you, Judd,” Carlos murmured. “For everything. You have always been there for me; for  _ him, _ and I just…”

“That’s what brothers do,” Judd rasped, and Grace squeezed his shoulders fondly.

—

_ “Judd?” Carlos was breathless, panicked, horrified at the call that the two had been on just hours before. _

_ TK had been in a warehouse; an old abandoned warehouse that had been set to be demolished by the city in the nineties, and they never got around to it.. Apparently some kids had used it for their secret hide-out (according to the one that Carlos had taken back in his cruiser— the least injured of the five), and they were smoking inside. A bud wasn’t extinguished properly, and a fire had broken out within minutes, trapping them inside. _

_ He had watched his boyfriend sprint in with Judd, but only Judd had come out. _

_ The warehouse had collapsed within minutes, leaving TK and Judd to fend for themselves. Judd managed to find the door, but he couldn’t find TK. Carlos had been listening in on the radio. _

_ And he knew the exact gravity of the situation as soon as Judd spoke into the radio. _

_ They found him under a slab of concrete, barely breathing, battered, broken, bleeding— _

_ Carlos didn’t want to think about the fact that he had to leave the scene to go question one of the witnesses. He didn’t want to think about the fact that they had brought TK’s unmoving body from the wreckage upwards of six hours ago. _

_ He wanted to think about the fact that TK was alive, and he was fighting to get back to them. _

_ “Reyes,” Judd sighed, standing up and nodding towards one of the doors. “They just got him out of surgery. He’s sleepin’ hard. Cap’s in there with him, now.” _

_ “How bad?” Carlos squeaked, almost immediately taking Judd’s seat. He pressed his palms to his knees and tried to breathe, but he was still incredibly nervous.  _

_ “It’s… It’s pretty bad, Carlos. I ain’t gonna lie to you.” Judd reached forward and clasped a hand on the other’s shoulder. “Pneumothorax was the biggie, he also had a few broken ribs, busted up his shoulder pretty bad, and he had a radial fracture but it was superficial, so—” _

_ “English, please?” Carlos whined. _

_ “Your boy’s lung collapsed, Carlos. He wasn’t breathin’ for a good four minutes in the ambulance. He cracked his skull, too, but it wasn’t that bad. Doctors said he should heal up relatively quickly, but you know him.” _

_ “I swear, I’m gonna kill him before he kills himself.” _

_ Judd let out a hearty laugh at that, throwing his arm around Carlos’s shoulder. He pulled him into an awkward side hug, and Carlos found himself laughing as well. _

_ “You know that boy will do whatever he can to get your attention,” he remarked, giving Carlos a light, friendly slap on the cheek. _

_ “I’m just glad he’s got someone like you to keep him from going too insane.” _

_ “Just him?” asked Judd, an eyebrow raised. _

_ “I went insane a long time ago, Judson. Why else would I date TK Strand?” The words were said in genuine fondness, and Carlos could see Judd smile even wider. _

_ “Ya don’t have to be a mad man to see he’s a charmer. He’s just a lot of other things as well.” _

_ Carlos smiled briefly, before his eyes seemed to move around the waiting room. The corners of his mouth dropped slowly, as he remembered why he was here. “Yeah, I’m starting to think one of those things is suicidal,” he sighed. _

_ “No,” Judd interjected. “I think he just puts everyone before himself, and sometimes that gets him hurt.” _

_ Carlos nodded once more, and leaned his head on Judd’s shoulder, hoping that his presence could bring some sort of comfort for the other man like he had brought Carlos. “I think he needs to think a little more of himself,” Carlos said, flatly. _

_ “No, he’s an arrogant douchebag,” Judd tried to joke. _

_ “It’s a facade.” _

_ “I know.” _

_ Carlos blew a tiny laugh through his nostrils and shrugged, “But as long as he’s somewhat okay, I can work with it.” _

—

Carlos had the ring around his neck in his palm, holding it tightly as his breath crystalized in the icy air. 

He wasn’t used to the cold. If he was lucky, it would snow once every five years in Texas, and Carlos would always suffer when it did. Sure, he got to take the day off from school, but as he grew older, that became more of a burden. He wanted to learn, and socialize, and be a normal teen, but snow always jeopardized that. All he got on snow days were wet socks and  _ Hey, Arnold! _ reruns.

Now, as he watched the snow fall onto his shoulders, Carlos couldn’t help but remember the ash that fell on him as he pulled up to the scene of the factory fire. He remembered that the men had been taken away by the time he showed up, but he could still see the blood on the ground. He remembered worrying about all of them, hoping they were alright, and the vague thought of wondering how much of this ash was actually his friends.

The memorial had ended minutes before. Carlos got around halfway through his speech before basically telling everyone that they knew who he was, and they knew what TK was to him.

Now, though, he was sitting on a marble bench outside the funeral home, the cold turning his tears into ice, stuck to his cheeks.

Lyle and Khai were on the ground on either side of him, both silent as they watched the people intermingle. Owen and Gwyn were speaking with Carlos’s parents, their faces moving in a medley of anguish and optimism. He couldn’t read them even if he tried. Marjan, Paul, and Mateo were leaning against Judd and Grace’s SUV, trying to talk. Mateo wore an obviously fake smile. Paul was playfully poking his arm. Marjan was trying to get the two to cut it out while Judd was probably leading the reminiscence train straight into their group. Grace was silent, holding onto his arm, her head leaned on his shoulder.

It was peaceful, almost, a beautiful display of human interaction that Carlos might have found interesting if he wasn’t so distraught. He never took the time out to study his friends, how they had obvious cliques and groups that they chose to engage with each day. 

He was too busy studying TK.

“Our flight leaves tomorrow night,” he heard Lyle say.

He didn’t move.

Part of him wanted to be devastated that his newfound friends would be leaving him so soon, but he knew that, eventually, everyone would leave him. 

So he said nothing, even when Lyle nudged his knee with his shoulders.

“You know,” Khai started. “TK used to talk about this place here, had the best comfort food. He said it’d clog your arteries in an instant. First bite.”

“Oh, you mean that doughnut place?” Lyle interjected. “With the doughnuts for burger buns? He talked about the fact that their mozzarella sticks were fried in doughnut batter as well?”

“Yeah!” Khai laughed. 

“It’s called Gordoughs,” Carlos mumbled, though he didn’t move other than to bring a knee to his chest. “It’s overhyped. TK just really liked the concept and he got a sandwich there one time and all of a sudden it’s the only place he wants to go on his day off. I can’t blame him, though. Their doughnuts are exceptional.”

“You wanna get lunch tomorrow, Carlos? Before Khai and I ship out?”

Carlos pondered the offer, wondering if he had enough energy to actually get out of the house again. He thought about all the times he had taken TK to Gordoughs, and they had laughed at whatever relentless funny videos were playing on the back wall. TK had always looked so good in the rustic, natural lighting. He had been so strong; so pointed looking. Carlos was absolutely enamoured by his fiancé in that lighting.

“I honestly don’t know if I can handle being there right now,” he said honestly. “So, maybe?”

“How about we go, just Lyle and I?” Khai asked. “We can put in a takeout order and come back by Owen’s to eat. It’s closer to the airport, anyway.”

Carlos sniffled and felt himself nod along to the suggestion. He knew that they had his best interest in mind, but he also knew them just well enough to know that Khai and Lyle never really let go of a friendship, no matter how long they had known them.

He admired that about them, and he wasn’t about to push them away.

“Yeah,” Carlos finally said. “Yeah, that sounds good. Maybe pick some up for Owen and Gwyn, too. They could use some comfort food.”

“You think Owen Strand would go within fifteen feet of a doughnut?” Khai blinked, trying to joke.

“His son just died.”

Carlos couldn’t believe he had said it so blatantly. The syllables had fallen out of his mouth and into their ears without any second thought. They weren’t words that were inherently painful, and Carlos knew he had acknowledged the loss of his lover before that, but the way that he was able to take something as lighthearted as a joke, and twist it into something angry and painful to listen to, scared the absolute  _ fuck _ out of him.

“He likes the peach one, ” Carlos tried to save it. “He got it all the time when things were looking bleak with the cancer. It scared the daylights out of TK.”

There was silence, for a moment, and though he was gazing across the street, Carlos could still practically feel their uncomfortable smiles, and the way they closed off at the mention of their old captain’s cancer.

“Then we’ll get him the peach one,” said Lyle.

Carlos forced a smile.

_ —— _

_ “I cannot believe he ate that entire thing,” TK mused leaning back onto Carlos’s chest. They had just come home from a lunch date with his father, and TK, in his mind, should still be with his dad. “Like, I love him, but I’ve never seen him eat that much in his life, and like all of it was fried? I haven’t seen him touch a bread crumb to his mouth since I was five years old. It’s like all he ever cared about just went out the window.” _

_ “Maybe Texas is rubbing off on him, babe. I know I’m a stickler for health and hygiene and working out, however I cannot resist a good burger. Especially not one from Gordoughs.” _

_ “He thinks he's dying,” TK sighed, leaning back further into Carlos’s chest. _

_ Carlos made the decision to bring a reassuring hand up to TK’s scalp, sighing softly when the man seemed to relax. He smiled, closing his eyes and kissing his temple softly. “I think you’re reading too much into this, babe.” _

_ “He ate an entire platter of mozzarella sticks, or whatever they’re called, a whole burger, a side of  _ fried _ okra,  _ and _ a dessert doughnut, Carlos, do you know my father? He would never.” _

_ “In his defense, the Son of a Peach is an exceptional doughnut.” _

_ “I’m gonna lose him.” TK’s voice was small and frail, and he could feel the sharp intake of air rattle against his body. Carlos knew TK was spiralling, and he didn’t want him to, but Carlos had learned that sometimes his boyfriend needed to, to make sense of things. _

_ “Baby,” he whispered, bringing a hand to TK’s cheek so he could turn him around. “My love, you know he is strong. He’s one of the strongest people I have ever met, and I don’t doubt for a second that he won’t fight to come back to you.” _

_ “He is fighting,” TK protested. “That’s not the problem. The problem is the fact that it isn’t working!” _

_ Carlos sighed and pulled TK to face him. He let his palms press against his cheeks. “Babe,” he tried again. He could see that TK wasn’t listening. His eyes were glued to a spot over Carlos’s shoulder, detached. TK got like this a lot. Owen, though he was improving, was really taking his sweet time, and Carlos saw how it ate at TK. He just wished his boyfriend could let it out, sometimes.  _

_ “He’s gonna leave me. Everyone always leaves me.” _ _  
  
_

_ “TK,” Carlos sniffed. “You know he won't. If he has any say in the matter, there is no way he would leave you behind.” _

_ “But what if he doesn’t?” _

_ Carlos pressed his lips together and shook his head. He wiped a tear from TK’s cheek with an exasperated laugh. “I think you and I have very different ideas when it comes to what Owen Strand can and can’t do.” _

_ Carlos felt himself relax a little when TK laughed. He leaned forward, gently pressing their foreheads together, hands still on his cheeks. “The Strands are the strongest, most resilient, kindest people that I have ever met. Y’all just sell yourselves short.” _

_ “I don’t know. I think I’ve met a Reyes like that,” TK tried to joke. _

_ “He’ll be a Strand soon enough.” _

_ TK let out a loud snicker, smiling as he leaned forward to kiss the other. “Make it sooner.” _

_ —— _

The last time Carlos was on the hood of his Camaro, he was locking fingers and lips with the love of his life.

It was a lot colder, now.

Parked in the same field by the river, Carlos’s chin was placed between his knees, tears dripping into the fabric of his jeans. 

He could hear people speaking behind him, deciphering a few of the voices. It was the first time all of them had been together since the memorial, and Carlos would give anything to curl up and die, right there.

It wasn’t raining. It wasn’t snowing. No, it was near sunset, and there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. The sky was painted with a few pinks and purples and yellows, but looking directly overhead, Carlos still saw that same atmospheric blue, though a couple of stars started to peek through.

“Carlos.”

He closed his eyes, burying his head in his knees at the sound of his name. He wanted to freeze time; live in a state of perpetual wallowing, hoping that no one would ever speak to him again.

Hypothetically he could just stay there; hide in his arms until he got too stiff to move, then withered and died. He could stay there until some poor soul chose to accept the challenge of talking Carlos Reyes off the precipice of his own suicide, and tore him from the hood of his car and forced him to eat and drink and cry and forget.

He didn’t care what happened.

But then there was a hand on his shoulder, and Carlos forced himself to look up.

“I can’t do this, Owen.”

“We’re all with you,” Owen tried, giving his shoulder a tight squeeze. When Carlos looked over at him again, he noticed the small wooden box in his other hand, and he flinched.

“No, you can’t make me do this.”

“This is what he wanted.”

“I know what he wanted, Owen,” Carlos choked out. “But I can’t just… It’s  _ him.  _ I don’t know how people do this. I’ve never done this before.” He furrowed his brows, his bottom lip trembling before he sucked it between his teeth. “What if I fuck up the last time I ever get to be with him?”

Owen sighed and placed the box next to Carlos on the hood of the Camaro. He then knelt down in front of Carlos, forcing the other’s gaze to fall down to him, instead of the sunset threatening the horizon. “Do you know how many of these I have done?” he whispered. “A lot. It never… It never does get easier. I know you know that. And it’s not like I expect you to have to do this again, but this…. This is tough, Carlos, I know.”

“Then why are you making me do this?”

“Because he asked you to.”

Carlos shut his eyes, more tears falling onto his jeans. He knew TK asked him to. He read his will, up and down, backwards and forwards, trying to figure out exactly what went wrong, and he knew that, once this day came, he would be stuck doing this.

_ I want Carlos to spread my ashes across the place where we officially began _ .

Yeah, it was an unorthodox bullet point crammed in with the rest of his fiancé’s wishes; one he almost missed.

But he didn’t miss it, and he really wished he did.

“I promise you, as soon as we finish up here, you can go home and sleep forever if that’s what you want, okay? You just have to finish this, and it’ll all be over, okay?”

“What if I don’t want it to be over?” asked Carlos. “ _ He _ was never supposed to be over.”

Owen flinched, but nodded in agreement. “Then take your time, Carlos, but you have to do it.” With a final pat on the back, Owen sagged his shoulders and turned to walk back to the people behind the Camaro.

Carlos was once again left alone, this time with a little wooden box next to him.

“You know I’m never gonna forgive you for this, right?” Carlos whispered to no one in particular. His eyes were on the box, though. He gently reached for it with shaky fingers, only grasping it on his third try. He would have laughed at himself, made a joke about having butterfingers, but he figured, at least for today, that he could let it slide. 

He softly pulled at the ribbon beneath the lid, the box popping open. Inside was a plastic bag that Carlos couldn’t bring himself to touch.

“When I said I wanted to hold you again, this wasn’t what I meant, baby,” he started, a tiny, uncomfortable laugh escaping his chapped lips. He reached into the box, slowly pulling at the seal of the bag until he could see inside, and his breath caught in his throat.

“You know, we’re supposed to get married in a week and a half,” he remarked, his jaw clenching as he slid off the hood of his car. “I never saw your outfit, but I hope you saw mine. My mom switched out the shirt, uh…” He swallowed. “For the memorial, but all the rest… that was all for you, baby.”

Carlos looked back into the box, slightly, before tipping it, and watching some of the ash fall out. “Tell me you got to see how magical it would have been,” he sniffled, strolling further into the field. “You and I, slow dancing under a disgusting disco ball, because you said the venue with the chandeliers was too expensive.” He dropped a few more of the ashes, watching them drift into the wind, towards the sunset. “Did you wear those gross old man shoes that your dad had you try on? I wouldn’t have minded. You look good in leather.” 

He wished TK was there to listen. He wished he was there to laugh at his cheesy, desperate, panicky jokes, and make him laugh just because he could. He wanted to reach out and wrap his arms around his fiancé, and hold him until he couldn’t let go, but if the past two weeks have taught him anything, it was the fact that holding him just wasn’t in the cards, anymore.

He dropped more of the ashes at his feet.

“If you happen to run into my abuela up there, uh, tell her Carlitos says hey.” He was running out of things to say. “And if you don’t, it’s okay. I just really hope she gets to meet you, someday. There’s also every family pet I’ve ever owned, especially Chico. He was such a good boy. You two would get along.” He felt his voice start to break as he finally sat down at the end of the field, the bag almost empty. 

So was he.

“I’m so sorry, T,” he choked. “I know I fucked everything up. I hope you’re listening, though, because I need you to know how sorry I am that I made you feel like there wasn’t a reason to stay. I am so sorry that I didn’t say I loved you enough. I am so sorry that I took that shift and I am so sorry that I let you down, okay?” He reached into the box and pulled the bag out, the ashes in the bottom shifting to fit into the palm of his hand. “If you’re listening, I need you to know I have not stopped loving you, and I never will.”

Carlos knew if TK was there he’d say it back, but all Carlos got, this time, was a gentle breeze, sweeping the remaining ash away from him, towards the bright red sunset on the horizon.

There was a moment of bliss within all the chaos, and Carlos’s mind seemed to shut itself up for once, as the birds and the bats flew between the buildings in the skyline, and the windows on the buildings reflected the sunlight into the river, and the river reflected onto his tearstained face.

_ TK was listening, and he was saying, “I know.” _

Carlos found himself staring back at the river, watching the light bend with the current as the current swept it away.

_ “I love you, too.” _

_ — _

_ The green in the sky didn’t hold a candle to the green in TK’s eyes. _

_ Today had thrown Carlos for a loop, both physically and emotionally. He had managed to get TK out of the house, which was a plus, but he didn’t really take it as a win as soon as he realized how positively bored the other was on house arrest. TK was practically buzzing with excitement when Carlos picked him up from his home. _

_ And then it all went to shit the moment Carlos started poking his nose in places that TK would rather keep quiet. _

“Honestly, I have no idea, Carlos.”

_ Even remembering it, twelve hours after the conversation had taken place, Carlos found his nose scrunching at the idea of TK being so detached, There was a lot that could change in twelve hours. Stitches could be busted, someone could almost die (again), someone’s entire life could be turned upside down, or right-side up again. _

_ In TK’s case, Carlos had observed all of the above. _

_ Now, they were sitting atop his Chevrolet Camaro, watching lights dance in the sky. Lights that he never thought he’d ever see. _

_ Yet the lights still were dim in comparison to TK’s smile. _

_ There were several ways this could go; several ways in which this night could end. Each movement he made seemed to have an endless amount of scenarios that could follow, and Carlos wasn’t much one for experimentation. He knew what he wanted. He just hoped TK was on the same page. _

_ “What are you thinking?” He finally managed, his mouth suddenly feeling dry and fuzzy at the words. He felt his breath quicken within the few moments of silence, but TK didn’t shy away. That had to count for something, right? _

_ “I’m thinking,” TK began, leaning slightly closer to the other. “We make a pretty good team.” _

_ Carlos only felt his smile grow. “We really do, don’t we?” He asked, turning his head away from the sky to stare at the boy across from him, lovesick and exhausted. _

_ And when TK looked back, Carlos melted. _

_ “Afraid so.” _

_ —— _

The station was quieter without TK. That was the first thing that Carlos noticed upon entering. Paul, Marjan and Mateo were talking to one another, but there was no banter; no bite to their conversation. It was a solemn exchange of words and expressions, rooted in exhaustion and pain, and the moment Carlos walked through the open engine bay, their conversation slowed to a dull halt.

Judd locked eyes with him, almost immediately, his pale gaze flicking momentarily down to the ring on his chest. 

Never had Carlos been so insecure about keeping it on him.

He felt himself look down, trying to focus on anything but the ring on his finger or the one on the chain. He swallowed hard, trying not to let himself think too much too quickly. He had come here for a lunch with the station, invited by Mateo, pestered by Owen. This was not the time to wallow like he had been doing for the past several weeks.

So, he looked up, drew in a deep breath, and tossed on a horribly fake smile. “Hey, Judd, where’s your captain?”

Judd shrugged, “I don’t know. He’s been floatin’ around here, somewhere. You’re late for lunch, though, Reyes. What’s with the hold up?”

“Traffic.” The answer was rehearsed.

Judd probably sensed as much, but his lax stature kept it well hidden if he had. He cocked his head to the side with a gentle, “Ah,” and started towards him, only stopping when he had Carlos locked in a tight embrace. “We saved you some. I’ll take you up—”

He was cut off by a choked sob and stepped away immediately, surprised when Carlos hadn't been the source of a noise so loud and jarring.

Until both men looked over to the back wall of the station, where Owen Strand stood, facing a small frame on the wall. He gently adjusted it, obviously trying to keep himself from sniffling. He only dropped his hands to the sides when it was perfectly straight. Then, he took a step back to look at it.

“Cap?”

“Owen?”

Both men started towards the man, only for Carlos to stop halfway, once he got an actual glimpse of the frame, and the plaque next to it.

He froze in his spot.

_ Tyler Kennedy “TK” Strand. _

His photo was above his name, probably having been taken soon after the 126 re-opened. Carlos had vaguely remembered driving by the station and seeing someone with a camera. Looking back on it, it probably was Marjan who had taken the photo, but Carlos’s memory was so jumbled at this point that it didn’t really matter to him.

What mattered to him was the smile that he wore in it; bright and shiny and happy. It was the way that his eyes crinkled at the edges, the way his hair was perfectly styled in a way that it didn’t even look like it was. It was the lax posture, and the genuine fondness in his expression.

What mattered to him was the fact that he’d never seen a photo so  _ perfectly TK _ before this, and the fact that he would most likely never see another.

He was so enamoured by the photo that he didn’t notice Judd or Owen calling his name until Owen placed a hand on his shoulder with a worried smile. 

“I’m sorry, what did you say, sir?”

“I said, let’s go get some lunch. I didn’t eat, either.”

Carlos nodded, swallowing hard as he pushed past the rest of the station, down the stairs into the kitchen and dining room. He didn’t even have a chance to sit down before a plate slid across the table in his direction.

He stared at it. The paper plate was stacked with some sort of cheesy casserole that would have looked appealing if he had been hungry. He eyed it for a while, wondering how he was supposed to eat it. 

Owen circled around him and handed him a fork. “I’m not leaving this spot until you have eaten every last bite of that. No exceptions. Grace worked incredibly hard on it.”

Carlos would have laughed.

He would have laughed if a fork hadn’t been shoved in his direction directly after the older man had finished that sentence. Instead, he stared at the utensil with dread, clenching his jaw tightly. He was nauseous. He had been for weeks, now, and it never seemed to go away. His fridge had been packed high with condolence casseroles that he had no idea how to consume all by himself, and though he’s slowly nibbled away at them, another was not what he needed right now.

“I don’t—”

“You’re thinning out, Carlos,” Owen stated simply.

Carlos shrunk in on himself.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Carlos, I know. I’ve been there, but it’s particularly tricky with jobs like ours. I know they’re giving you time off. It’s good that they are, and I’m glad you are taking time for yourself, but after…” He took a deep breath. “After something like this happens, it’s easy to fall into that habit of losing the days. You don’t eat, or sleep, and everything blends together. God knows I have been there, but you can’t be unable to do your job when you come back.”

“Who says I am?” Carlos bit his lip. He averted Owen’s gaze and, instead, chose to turn back to the dish in front of him. He poked at it with his fork for a little bit, breath hitching. “I’m not trying to starve myself, you know.”

“I know, Carlos.”

“I’m just not hungry.”

“That makes sense, and while that’s valid, I also know that you clearly need to eat.”

Carlos closed his eyes and sighed, picking up some of the food on his fork. “You know, I thought by showing up here late I would have avoided this conversation.”

“I’m aware,” Owen tried to joke, but the best it got out of Carlos was a tiny grimace.

Carlos let out a deep sigh, and brought the fork into his mouth. The flavor was nice. It was most likely comfort food. He could taste cheese and potatoes, and a little bit of protein in, somewhere, but he wasn’t sure what it was, considering Owen was vegan and Marjan couldn’t have pork. It was delicious, nonetheless. Carlos had forgotten about good comfort food. This was food that reminded him of his childhood when he would go to his friend’s houses for sleepovers. It reminded him of date nights, when he would order southern comfort food for himself and TK, and watch movies on his laptop in the park. It reminded him of the couple times TK tried to cook, and actually succeeded.

It reminded him of TK.

“I miss him so much,” Carlos mumbled, setting the fork down next to a near empty plate. “He would always try to cook for me, and he would always mess up, but he knew he could do potatoes really well.”

“I gave Grace his recipe. He told me you loved it.”

Carlos felt his throat closing once again. He felt his face heat up and his eyes begin to water, but he wiped them before the tears could fall. “He made a recipe?”

“Tweaked it from some blog, but yeah. He wrote it down, special, and told me where it was in case you ever wanted it and he wasn’t there.”

_ Oh. _

“You know, sometimes I think he had this planned out from the beginning. Like from the day he met me, he knew that he wanted to steal my heart and run away with it, and then I remember all these plans we had, and everything we did… everything we didn’t get to do.”

“You know you were the best thing that ever happened to him, Carlos. You made him so happy.”

“Not happy enough,” Carlos whispered.

“Let’s not go there, today, okay?” Owen stood and grabbed his plate. He gave Carlos a pinched, forced smile before moving to the kitchen and disposing of the plate in the garbage. He dropped the fork in the sink, and turned back. “Today, let’s just… reflect. Visit with friends. Don’t be a stranger.” He moved forward, beckoning Carlos up from his seat.

Carlos followed Owen back out into the bay, hoping his tears weren’t too noticeable. When they reached the engine, Carlos took a moment to lean on it, taking in the surroundings. It was quiet, and nervous, and it was exhausting just to be inside of it. The weight of the loss seemed to crush him where he stood. If he wasn’t careful—

“Ryder, what are you—”

Carlos’s head snapped up to see Judd on a ladder, humming a melancholy tune as he adjusted a frame in the shadowbox. He turned to Owen and shrugged. “I think we lost the divide between the old and the new a long time ago,” he stated simply.

Carlos stepped forward, peering around his shoulder to find TK’s photo hanging there, in the blank spot within the original 126’s memorial.

“Judd…” Owen whispered, and Carlos instinctively grabbed his shoulder.

“All due, Captain, you once told me that the 126 is bigger than them. It has been for a long time. There’s no original or new station. It’s just… the 126. He’s a part of it. He belongs here.”

“Thank you, Judd.”

Judd shrugged and climbed back down the ladder. He pulled the captain into a hug, then moved to wrap his strong arms around Carlos.

“This is me keepin’ him in it.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [tumblr](https://trkstrnd.tumblr.com)
> 
> I hope yall enjoyed this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it. It's been a long time coming, but I am so proud of it.
> 
> Again, happy birthday Max!! I love you.
> 
> title from cure for the enemy by billy talent


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